Sun Gone Lost
by Swing Girl At Heart
Summary: "How much use could you be if you abandoned your baby girl? You're anything but badass." A detailed account of Puck and the people surrounding him as disease ravages his mind. Expect the Unexpected.
1. Knockout

**A/N: So, this is part of the _Expect The Unexpected_ series I'm working on, which is, frankly, exactly what it sounds like. As part of my everlasting quest to defy any and all possible cliches, something completely unfathomable happens to one member of the Glee club in each fic of the series. This is installment number two, but none of them are connected plot-wise, so there aren't any prequels you have to read for any of them. Some will be tragic, some scary, some comedic. Enough jabber - please enjoy!**

* * *

_Sun Gone Lost_

Looking back on it now, Will knew he should have realized something was wrong with Puck. The kid had been behaving strangely over the last few months, zoning out during Glee practice, skipping football, acting jittery. He'd even ceased all of his attacks on the underclassmen and less popular upperclassmen, and started sitting away from everyone else during lunches. Will had just written it off as stress from having to watch his daughter come into the world and then hand her off to a total stranger. There was absolutely no way that he could have known that the reason went deeper than that, but as he and the rest of the Gleeks watched from the front of the school as Puck was loaded into the back of the ambulance, Will couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of guilt. He was the teacher – he was supposed to see it when there was something going on with one of his students, and he was supposed to take action. He had done neither.

As the ambulance pulled out of the parking lot and disappeared down the street, Will exhaled slowly, turning back to the group of eleven kids standing behind him, all just as confused and terrified as he was. Nobody spoke, and even Brittany seemed to understand that whatever was going on, it was bad.

Mercedes was the one to finally break the silence. "So…what happens now?"

Will sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. There was no point in trying to hold rehearsal now; even Rachel looked like her heart wouldn't be in it, so he dismissed them. Slowly, they dissipated, trudging toward their cars or off to call for their rides to pick them up early. Soon only Quinn remained, a slightly shell-shocked expression frozen on her face.

"Quinn," Will said quietly. "I need you to tell me exactly what happened."

"I…I don't know," she whispered. "I didn't – didn't do anything, at least I don't think I did, but—"

"Slow down," Will said. "It's okay. Just tell me what happened."

She drew a long, shuddering breath, trying to compose herself. "I don't even remember what we were talking about, but he…he just started yelling that I was trying to control him, that we – we were all out to get him…that none of us would care if he – he threw himself off a roof—" Her words were choked off and she hid her face in her hands. "Oh God, you don't think he could be serious, do you?"

Will shook his head vigorously. "No. He was just overreacting."

"To _what?_" she cried.

He didn't have an answer for that.

* * *

_Two Months Later_

The rule was that only three people could visit a patient at one time, so the Glee club members that had wanted to go had been split up into pairs; they would all be accompanied by Mr. Schue when it was their turn. Finn and Quinn were first.

Nothing was said on the way to the hospital. The quarterback and former cheerleader sat silently in Will's old piece-of-junk car, staring out the windows for the duration of the hour-and-a-half ride. When they arrived, the first thing that popped into Finn's mind was that the building looked absolutely nothing like a hospital. The only word to describe it that he could think of was _fortress_. And that made his stomach twist painfully in his gut. Quinn grabbed his hand.

Will led the two of them in, wearing his best brave face as he approached the front desk.

"You have an appointment?" drawled the receptionist before he had a chance to say anything.

"Uh, yeah. We're here to see Noah Puckerman?" He noticed that his hands were a little sweaty, and he wiped them on his jeans, trying not to make the action look obvious.

The receptionist frowned at the register for a few moments, then handed them three cards to clip onto their clothing. "Do not remove the visitor IDs at any time," she droned. "You can go wait in the Day Room – it's down that hall."

At the elderly woman's direction, Will, Finn, and Quinn made their way down the corridor, trying to ignore the chilly atmosphere and the shivers running up and down their spines.

The Day Room had tall windows, letting dusty sunlight slant across the floor, and looked more like a pre-school classroom than a hospital ward. There were checker boards on some of the tables, some with games left unfinished, and more board games stacked in the padlocked closets. There was a gigantic bin of ragged stuffed animals, their eyes sad and their limp arms and legs dangling over the side. A large box of maltreated crayons and markers sat on the nearest table.

"Mr. Schue?" Quinn whispered, her voice shaking. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"It'll be fine, Quinn, don't worry," Will assured her, though he was started to doubt his decision in letting the kids (and himself) see Puck at all. Maybe two months wasn't long enough?

Just then, a door on the opposite side of the room opened, and they turned, expecting to see Puck walk through. Instead, a middle-aged doctor entered and strode over to them. "You're the visitors for Noah?" he asked bluntly.

Will nodded.

"Okay, before you go in and see him, I'll need to explain a few things," he said, shifting his clipboard to his other hand. "If he seems a little groggy or out of it, don't worry, it's just the medication he's on. He'll be a little bit spacey, too, losing his train of thought, that kind of thing. He probably won't be suffering from any episodes right now, since we upped the meds a tad for your visit, but if he does, don't panic, just call over one of the orderlies – they'll be close by the whole time. You have an hour."

Without any further introduction, the doctor turned and headed back for the door. It took Will's brain a second to reconnect with his feet and usher his students along, Quinn tight-lipped and Finn paler than Kurt. As they followed the doctor, Will put his hands on their shoulders. "Remember, neither of you have to go in and see him. You can always go wait in the car if you feel uncomfortable at any time. Okay?"

They nodded, and Will knew they weren't going anywhere.

When they entered the ward and finally saw Puck sitting at a table at the far end of the room, slouching down with his back to them, Will felt a small wave of relief. For some reason, he'd half-expected Puck to be in shackles, but that must have been his imagination spinning out of control as he anticipated the visit the night before.

"Puck?" Finn ventured as they approached him. "Hey, man." The quarterback took the seat opposite him and Will took the chair on the end of the table. Quinn sank into the seat between Finn and Will.

Puck's eyes were glassy, and he was staring out the window.

Finn said his name again, a little louder.

Puck's gaze snapped away from the outside world and landed on Finn's face, then traveled to Quinn's and Will's. He frowned slightly, as if he was surprised that they were there. "Oh. Hi."

"How are you feeling?" Will asked.

Puck shrugged, leaning his head against his fist and tracing idle shapes on the tabletop. His skin had gained a pallid tone that made him look like he was about to throw up, and his eyes were shadowed. Quinn looked away when she noticed that his fingers were shaking a little from the medication.

"We miss you at school," Finn said. "And in Glee."

"They won't let me have my guitar in here," Puck said, the words slightly slurred.

"What? Why the hell not?" Finn looked furious that his friend would be denied this one simple pleasure in his current situation.

Puck looked at him, tapping his index finger against the table. "They think I'd use the strings."

Will blanched. Quinn looked horrified. It took a moment for Finn to get what Puck was trying to say, and when he did, all the color drained from his face. Puck's eyes had fallen back to the smooth surface of the table, sliding out of focus.

"Puck?" Will tried to catch his attention.

"Huh?" Puck blinked.

Will rubbed the back of his neck in agitation. "So…how are things going in here? What do you do all day?" He mentally slapped himself for the feeble conversation starter, but Puck seemed to have no problem with it.

"Today we had group therapy," Puck recited flatly. "Yesterday was poker night. We bet with sodas. Tomorrow, if the weather's nice, the docs are gonna let us play basketball outside."

"Sounds like fun," said Will, forcing a smile. Puck didn't look all that enthusiastic about it, but maybe it would bring some color back to his face.

"Why'd you come to see me?" Puck asked abruptly, looking back out the window.

Quinn finally spoke. "Because we miss you, Puck."

A muscle twitched in his jaw. "None of you even liked me."

Will stepped in. "Puck, don't be—"

"Stupid?" Puck finished harshly. "Ridiculous? That's what everybody is telling me, all the time now." His hands balled into shaky fists.

"Puck, we came because we miss seeing you," Will said firmly. "You were a big part of Glee. Do you have any idea how empty it is without you?"

Puck lurched to his feet, swaying slightly and making the three of them flinch. "This isn't my fault!" he shouted, his eyes wild but strangely focused. An orderly was instantly at his side, pressing down on his shoulders in an attempt to get him to sit down again.

"Noah, what did we talk about?"

Finn swallowed and Will's stomach twisted again. Didn't the guy realize he wasn't talking to a baby?

Puck gritted his teeth. "No yelling," he said.

"Good, no yelling," the orderly praised him. "Now, why don't you just sit back down—" Puck sat. "—and talk nicely with your friends?" The orderly didn't leave until Puck gave him a small nod, a silent promise to be good.

Once the orderly was gone, Puck seemed to relax, but he said nothing and once again let his eyes slide out of focus. Will and Finn exchanged upset looks. Several minutes of painful silence passed, and then Puck suddenly drew a sharp intake of breath, still staring at nothing.

"Puck?" Finn said, frowning in concern. "What's the matter?"

Puck shook his head, burying his face in his hands. A shuddering inhalation told them he was crying, but none of them knew what they could do or say. "_Shut up!_" he growled.

Finn looked taken aback. "I-I'm sorry—"

"Not you," Puck snapped, his hands dropping.

Quinn shrunk closer to Finn, and Will felt his heart jump into his throat as he realized what was wrong. He called the orderly back over. "Something's happening," was all he managed to say.

The orderly nodded and swiftly pulled Puck to his feet. "Okay, Noah, you're gonna come with me…"

"No. I want to stay here."

"Noah…"

Puck shrugged off the orderly's hands. "I said I want to stay."

The orderly sighed. "Noah, you need to come with me now," he said sternly. "Do you want me to call one of the nurses?"

A muscle beneath Puck's eye twitched, and he gritted his teeth again.

"I didn't think so," the orderly said, gripping Puck's shoulder. "Come on. Let's go."

Before Will, Finn, and Quinn had a chance to react, the orderly had led Puck out of the room and out of sight. The three of them were left speechless at the table until the orderly returned, and this time Puck wasn't with him.

"What happened?" Finn asked.

"He had an episode," the orderly said, but upon seeing Finn's blank expression, he clarified. "He was hearing voices."

"And…where is he now?" Will asked.

"In his room, asleep."

"You knocked him out?" Finn demanded.

The orderly laced his hands behind his back. "Schizophrenia is complicated. There's no telling how long an episode will last. Usually, it's better to put him to sleep than to have him sit it out," he explained. "I apologize that you didn't get a chance to say goodbye."

Soon afterwards, the three of them were exiting the hospital, more than a little shaken. Quinn leaned into Finn's embrace as they walked back to the car, casting one last look at the foreboding building's face before she climbed in. "Mr. Schue?" she said softly. "How long do you think he'll be in there?"

Will sighed. "I don't know, Quinn." He dropped heavily into the driver's seat. "I just don't know."

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**A/N: Please leave a review and tell me what you think of it. If you enjoyed it, add me to Author Alert to be notified when the other installments in the series are posted. So far, only Brittany's is up - check it out, it's titled Tus Spiritus Sancti.**


	2. Fog

**A/N: So, I didn't exactly intend for this to go over one chapter, but it did anyways. This seems to happen a lot.**

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_Sun Gone Lost_

Will wasn't quite as nervous on his second visit to the psychiatric hospital. It was Artie and Kurt's turn to see Puck, Kurt having filled Tina's spot when she backed out after hearing about Finn and Quinn's trip. Artie expertly maneuvered himself out of the front seat of Will's car and into his chair once Kurt had removed it from the trunk, and together the three of them headed along the same route Will had followed the previous week. A guitar case had been slung over the handles of Artie's chair – Will had called ahead to see if they were allowed to bring him a guitar just for their visit, so long as they didn't leave him alone with it, and when he got the O.K. he borrowed one from the band equipment stores.

After receiving their Visitor Identification cards, they proceeded to wait in the Day Room, Artie staring morosely at a half-finished page of a coloring book left forgotten on one of the tables as Kurt anxiously checked his appearance in his pocket mirror, though Will could tell the action was more from needing something to do than vanity.

It wasn't long before the now-familiar doctor appeared, nodding a greeting to Will as he approached. "Some more of Noah's friends, huh?" he said. "Popular kid. I have to warn you, sir – Noah's on a higher dose of medication than he was last time you were here. His episodes have been growing more frequent, so we have him on a new regiment, and he'll be a little more out of it than he was last week."

Will felt his heart sink, and he could practically feel Kurt's frightened stare. "Is he still up for a visit?" he asked.

The doctor's thin moustache twitched in thought. "I don't see any problem with it, but it's going to take some extra effort on your part to keep him awake enough to talk."

Will nodded wordlessly, hearing Artie gulp behind him. They followed the doctor through the corridor and found Puck at the same place at the corner table where he'd been the week before. Artie wheeled up beside him and Will took a seat. Kurt stood rigid a good three feet away, staring at the back of Puck's shaved head. For a split second, he wondered why Puck hadn't regrown his mohawk, but then realized that even if he'd wanted to the nursing staff probably wouldn't have allowed it. They'd never have let him near a razor.

"Kurt," Will prompted softly. "Sit down."

Kurt snapped back into reality and dropped into the seat on Will's other side, clutching his shoulder bag tightly. Puck's head was resting against his fist, and he was staring at nothing, his eyes almost closed. His mouth was twitching slightly as he chewed the skin on the inside of his lip.

"Puck?" Will said. "Puck." He placed a gentle hand on Puck's shoulder, making him jump, his eyes fluttering all the way open for a brief few seconds.

"Hi," he said.

"How you feeling?" Will asked.

Puck didn't answer, his eyelids sliding shut again.

"Puck."

At the sound of his name, his bleary eyes finally opened as far as he could make them.

"How are you feeling?"

He coughed, blinking slowly. "Numb."

Artie spoke up next, trying valiantly to keep his voice from trembling. "We…we heard that they wouldn't let you have a guitar in here, so…we brought one with us."

Puck's glazed stare slowly worked its way over to Artie – the most prominent body language he could give through the haze of the drugs to show he was interested. Artie seemed to understand, though, and he pulled the guitar off his chair handles and unzipped the case, laying the instrument on the table. Puck coughed again and reached for the neck of the guitar, his hand shaking and missing by nearly three inches before he was able to latch his fingers around the smooth wood. He seemed to be having a hard time maneuvering the guitar off the table and into his lap, so Will reached forward and helped him scoot his chair back to make enough room and then settle it in the right position on his legs.

"Sorry," Puck mumbled. His voice was hoarse and his lips were chapped. "'m little f-foggy."

Will gave his shoulder a pat before resuming his seat. The three of them watched as Puck leaned over the belly of the guitar, a deep frown carved into his face as he concentrated on covering the right combination of strings with his fingers and getting his hands into the right places. After a few minutes that were tense on the visitors' end, he strummed an awkward-sounding note. The frown grew deeper and he tried again. And again. And again. With each attempt, the note sounded worse and his hands shook more, until finally, he grimaced and Will helped him set it back on the table.

"Not in the mood for music today?" Will asked. Obviously.

Puck shook his head, looking upset even though the effects of the medication were still heavily present.

"Well, do…do you want me to play the guitar and you can sing something?" Artie suggested, desperately trying to think of anything for Puck to do that could help him stop looking so goddamn _depressed_.

He closed his eyes, exhausted. "Can't sing. The – the med'cine makes m-my throat dry."

The hopeful look on Artie's face melted away as he re-packed the guitar.

Puck slurred something incoherent. "Can you say that again?" Will requested gently.

"'S a goddamn mess."

Artie and Kurt looked slightly confused, but said nothing. Will laid a hand on Puck's arm, trying to send him some form of comfort. "Don't worry, Puck. It might be a mess, but you'll get out of it. You'll make it through this."

Puck shook his head again. "No," he said, his teeth clicking in frustration. The pronunciation of each syllable was strained; it was taking him nearly twice as long to form each word. "Not mess. M-meds."

Oh. _It's the goddamn meds._

"Th-they make me sick."

Will sighed. "Puck, you know that the meds are there to make you better."

His eyes squeezed shut and he covered his ears. "They…they're tryin' gill me."

Artie went white as a sheet, and Kurt hastily used his kerchief to wipe away a couple of tears that had caught him by surprise. Will tightened his grip on Puck's arm. "Hey…nobody is trying to kill you, Puck. Understand?"

"Yes, they are." Puck chewed on one of his nails. "They k-keep givin' me pills…"

"They're trying to make you better," Will repeated patiently. "I promise, it's for your own good."

As sharply as he could manage under the influence of the heavy medication, Puck pulled his arm away from Will's touch. "That's what-what the docs told me—" His breathing was growing rapid, his eyes red. He was on the verge of tears.

Will swallowed and turned to Kurt and Artie, afraid that Puck was having another episode. "Um, I think it'd be better if you guys went and waited in the car," he said in an undertone.

Kurt didn't need to be told twice, immediately standing up. As he passed, he stopped and turned back, wrapping his arms around Puck shoulder's. Mr. Schue could see the tears well up in Kurt's eyes again when Puck gave no reaction – he neither leaned into the embrace nor shrugged it off, nor made any indication whatsoever that he was aware he was being hugged. When Kurt finally realized that Puck wasn't going to do anything, he withdrew, sniffing and turning away so that Mr. Schuester couldn't see him crying, and headed for the door, walking faster than usual.

"Artie," Will said. The wheelchair-bound boy hadn't moved. "You should go."

"I'm fine," Artie said absently, his eyes not leaving Puck's face.

"You sure?"

Artie nodded wordlessly.

"Hey there, Noah," said a cheery-sounding nurse approaching with a tray of tiny paper cups, her voice syrupy sweet. "Time for your meds, hon."

Will and Artie's eyes widened. Wasn't he doped up enough as it was?

The nurse noticed their expression and said in her too-sugary tone, "It's his new regiment. The effects are starting to wear off, and he's got to take them every four hours."

Artie gulped. If this was what Puck was like when the effects were wearing off, then he was scared of what Puck was like when they were at their peak.

The nurse placed one of the pill cups on the table in front of him with a cup of water. "Come on, Noah, drink up. We can wait all day if we have to." She smiled as if she was telling a toddler to finish his dinner.

Puck grimaced and pushed the cup away.

"Noah…" the nurse said, her voice condescendingly warning. She was still smiling, but she was looking at him in a way that reminded Will distinctly of Sue. "What's the problem this time?"

"They're bitter."

"You still have to take them," she said, adding "Sweetie" almost as an afterthought, making Artie wince. This was a woman who hated her job.

When Puck still made no move to take them, the nurse place a meticulously manicured hand (that Kurt would have been proud of) on his shoulder. He recoiled, but her grip didn't lessen. "Honey, if you don't take your meds on your own, I'm going to have to call Rick and Ted."

Will and Artie had no idea who Rick and Ted were, but judging by the way Puck's fingers curled into fists, they were both men who were stronger than he was.

Several seconds ticked by in taut silence before the nurse let go of him, motioning for two of the orderlies to come over. Puck tried to stand up, to get away, but before he could take a step, Rick and Ted each grabbed one of his arms. He wasn't going anywhere.

The nurse picked up his pills. "Open your mouth, sweetie."

Puck clenched his teeth, glaring at her with as much animosity as he could manage through the haze of the last dose they gave him. She gave a curt nod to one of the men, and he reached up and got ahold of Puck's jaw, forcing it open with a hand on Puck's forehead. Despite Puck's struggles, the pills were dropped onto his tongue and then before he had a chance to defiantly spit them out, the man pressed his jaw shut, tipping his head back to make him swallow. They didn't allow him to move until they saw his trachea bob up and down, and he was dropped unceremoniously back into his chair.

The nurse patted him on the back. "Good job, Noah."

"Fuck you."

"We don't tolerate that kind of language here, sweetie," she replied smoothly before turning smartly on her heel to deliver the rest of the pills to the other patients milling about.

Artie and Will wore stunned expressions, and they stared as Puck dropped his head into his hands, his face pinched as he focused on not breaking down and crying in front of them. Neither of them had ever seen him so vulnerable, and it was unsettling, mental illness aside.

"Puck, are you—" Will's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat before starting again. "Are you okay?"

Puck gritted his teeth. "I told you they're tryin' to kill me."

It wasn't long before the latest dose began to really take effect, and Puck soon had much more trouble staying connected to the present. His movements were minimal and executed as if he was underwater, and Will and Artie constantly had to repeat his name to remind him they were there, often having to say things twice for him to understand. Finally, the nurse came back (Puck flinched when he noticed her presence) and sweetly informed them that their hour visitation was up and that Puck had to return to his room.

"Sure," Will said, standing up. "Um…would you mind if we came with him? Just to the room."

The nurse forced another sickly-sweet smile. "Of course. I'll have Ted accompany you."

Will helped Puck stand up, bracing him against his shoulder so the dizziness wouldn't take over, and followed Ted through a door that had to be unlocked before they passed and locked up again after. The new hallway was narrow and lined with doors on either side, floored with linoleum that made Artie's wheels squeak softly as Ted led them to the last door on the right, unlocking it and stepping aside so there was room for Will and Puck to go through. Artie stayed in the hall.

The room was bare. White walls, white sheets. Just…white. There were two beds, one on each side, and no windows.

"Okay, Puck, which bed is yours?"

Puck didn't seem to hear the question, so Ted answered instead. "It's the one on the right," he said gruffly.

Will gently lowered Puck into a sitting position on the edge of the mattress, and Puck, seeming to sense where he was, lay down and rolled over to face the wall. Sighing, Will gave Puck's shoulder a solid pat (gaining still no response from Puck) and said, "I'll try to come back next week." He straightened up and rejoined Artie in the hall, Ted locking Puck into the room before he escorted them back.

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**A/N: Please review and let me know what you think. And again, add me to Author Alert to be notified when the other fics in the series are posted.**


	3. Weakling

**A/N: I started this chapter at least ten different ways before I found one that felt right, that's why it took so long to update; I apologize for the wait. I'm also on vacation in Crete right now, and typing this up in an internet cafe. This will be my only update until the 10th of August when I get back to the States.**

* * *

_Sun Gone Lost_

The reinforced glass of the window felt cool against his forehead - a welcome change from the feverish atmosphere of the ward. He closed his eyes, placing his hands flat on the pane and relaxing against the calming surface. There was a constant hum in the background, like a bee hive, layers upon layers of incoherent murmurs. He ignored them for the time being - the pills they gave him made it harder to understand what they were saying, so for now he forced his brain to focus on the soothing coolness on his forehead and palms, the cold linoleum beneath his bare feet. With one hand, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a worn slip of paper, wrinkled and frayed on the edges, unfolding it and struggling to read the sloppy penmanship.

_My name is Noah Puckerman. I am 17 years old._

Repeating those words over and over in his head like a mantra, he slipped the paper back into his pocket. _My name is Noah Puckerman. I am seventeen years old. My name is Noah Puckerman._

His erratic train of thought was interrupted when he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder; he recoiled as if he'd been electrocuted. The nurse was standing beside him, talking to him. He blinked, staring at her. She pursed her lips, starting again and speaking slowly for him to understand. Her words were distorted, as if he was listening from inside a fish tank.

"You've fizzy doors," she said.

He blinked again. "...Huh?"

She sighed impatiently. "You have visitors," she repeated.

He almost protested her speaking to him like he was a baby, but his brain was all pins and needles, and he was _tired._ So instead, he said nothing in reply as she gripped his arm and led him over to the table in the corner, dropping him uncerimoniously into a chair.

He couldn't quite remember when the last time he'd had visitors was, but he knew that they came in threes, with only his old teacher visiting every time. He couldn't quite remember their names most of the time while he was on the pills, but he could recognize their faces and differentiate between them. He understood that they were friends. Today, his teacher had brought two girls with him - a somber-faced black girl and a smaller brunette in a blue-checked sweater. The brunette was the first to speak.

"How are you feeling, Noah?" she asked, her hands folded in her lap beneath the table.

He wondered why the people who visited him always asked him that. He was feeling like shit; wasn't that obvious?

He shrugged. His skull felt like it was full of cotton charged with static. Sighing and resting his head against his fist, he felt like he could just go to sleep and not wake up until the pins and needles had stopped their relentless pricking in his head, his eyes, his fingers and toes... even the tips of his ears.

_My name is Noah Puckerman and I'm seventeen years old._

"Puck."

His eyes slid open at the sound of his name. Had he fallen asleep? His three visitors were watching him warily, as if they were waiting for him to say something. "Sorry," he said. His throat tickled and he coughed. His tongue felt coated with wool. "What'd you say?"

"I asked if they're treating you all right," said the black girl. He tried to remember her name... Anita? He gave up and focused on answering her.

He knew better than to answer honestly. He'd told his teacher the truth before, but his teacher had sided with the doctors. His friends were nice, but they weren't going to help him and he wasn't sure they could even if they'd wanted to. But he didn't have the energy to fabricate a lie, so he settled for another half-hearted shrug.

He saw the black girl's eyes flicker towards his hand, which was trembling even though it was only resting on the tabletop. He moved both hands beneath the table.

His head felt loose on his shoulders.

He looked out the window.

"We miss you terribly, Noah," said the brunette. "You were very talented."

_Hear that? She said _were.

He felt his heart clench. The pills were wearing off.

_You _were_ talented. Now you're useless._

Still looking out the window (because he'd rather look anywhere than at them), he raised his hands and covered his ears, an action to provide a false security blanket.

_Not that you were ever much use before, though._

_After all, how much use could you be if you abandoned your baby girl? Poor little Bethy, all alone with no daddy to speak of._

_Poor baby._

"No. No. I didn't abandon her."

_Really? Because someone did._

_Sure it wasn't you?_

_Quinn didn't want you to be the dad, and then when she let you, you chickened out._

_Coward._

_Scaredy-cat._

_Anything but badass._

_Ha-ha! So much for Puckzilla!_

He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing harder over his ears. "Shut up... _Please, _just shut up... My name is Noah Puckerman I'm seventeen years old."

Fuck, had he said that out loud? He couldn't bring himself to open his eyes, afraid to see the frightened and pitying looks he _knew_ were on his friends' faces. There were tears pressing against his eyelids, a swollen lump rising in his throat.

_Gonna cry?_

_Crybaby._

_No better than._

_Maybe _you_ belong at the bottom of a dumpster._

_Wouldn't _that_ be a sight!_

_Trash like you know you are._

_Human garbage!_

_Finally put where you belong._

_About time._

Suddenly, he felt hands on his shoulders, grabbing him to throw him in with the trash, and he flinched away, his eyes flying open.

"It's okay! It's okay!" the brunette was saying over and over. "It's just me." She was standing right beside him - when had she moved? - and one of her hands was on his left shoulder, the other on his right cheek.

But it _wasn't_ okay because he was sick and he was trash just like his dad had told him he was and he couldn't make them shut up and he couldn't quite remember who this girl was and the nurse would be there any second to give him some more of those goddamned pills and then he'd be right back to wondering what his name was. He could feel the tears coursing down his cheeks now and he felt _ashamed_ to be seen like this. He felt ashamed to be seen at all.

_You're pathetic._

_You don't deserve these people - you don't deserve _any_ people._

"Leave me alone!" he cried, gripping the brunette's forearms like a lifeline. He shut his eyes again, his ribs shuddering.

The girl's hands gently turned his head towards her. "Noah, Noah," she urged softly. "Noah..."

_She's out to get you. Just like all of them._

_There's no one on your side. You're just not worth it._

_Not worth their time._

"_Well, the King of Chicago wears comfortable clothes,_" the girl's voice abruptly cut through the clamor, sharp and smooth all at once. He gritted his teeth, trying to keep his mind centered on what she was singing. "_Survived forty years on fishes and loaves, and his love is like a red, red rose - all hail the King of Chicago._"

Slowly, he felt his body beginning to unclench and his fists loosening as she crooned, her palms cool and soothing against his face. "_And the King of Chicago gets up around noon, singing old ballads from wild Saskatoon, and he's often mistook for the man in the Moon - all hail the King of Chicago._"

_Even if she's helping you now, she's not gonna stay for long._

_Better things to do._

_More important._

"_And the King of Chicago don't photograph well. He's got nothing to hide, he's got nothing to sell, and his voice has a crack like the Liberty Bell - all hail the King of Chicago._"

As the song progressed, the taunts and the insults seemed to grow quieter, blocked out by her voice.

"_And up in his room,_" she sang. "_He's got a rooster named Red, and it sits on a post at the foot of his bed, and the sun comes up out of the top of his head, and it's always already tomorrow. Oh, all hail to the King of Chicago..._"

She stopped to briefly ask him if the music was helping, and when he said nothing, his eyelids drooping and his shoulders slumping in exhaustion, she took it to be a yes. She leaned him against her shoulder and continued.

"_From the East and the West, they show up at his door. They clean out his fridge and they sleep on the floor - the reckless, the restless, the purposely poor - all hail the King of Chicago._"

He found himself relaxing against her, taking solace in the feeling of her voice vibrating in her chest. The voices in his head had faded to a droning buzz in the back of his mind.

"_But the King of Chicago, he's never put out. His shout is a whisper, his whisper a shout, and everyone knows what he's talking about - all hail the King of Chicago._"

Her hand was rubbing circles over his back - he could feel it through his shirt.

"_And up in his room, he's got a rooster named Red, and it sits on a post at the foot of his bed._" Then the voices of his teacher and the black girl joined the brunette's in softly singing the last few lines of the song. "_And the sun comes up out of the top of his head, and it's always already tomorrow. Oh, all hail to the King of Chicago. All hail to the King of Chicago. All hail...to the King of Chicago..._"

He didn't say anything when they finished, too tired to think or speak or do anything else. He could hear the nurse behind him, reprimanding them for singing in the ward and disturbing the peace, and he could tell that an argument was about to start. He reached up and lightly gripped the brunette's hand, trying to tell her that it was no use arguing with the nurses - they always got their way.

"What is it, Noah?" she asked softly.

"He just doesn't want to take his medicine," snapped the nurse, placing a small pill cup in front of him. He glared at her. "Come on, sweetie."

He made a face and turned away, his stomach rolling. He felt dizzy.

"Does he really have to take those?" he heard the black girl ask.

"Yes," insisted the nurse. She put a hand on his shoulder; he edged closer to the brunette. "Noah..." the nurse said, her tone warning.

"No," he protested. He swallowed, battling a wave of nausea. _My name is Noah Puckerman. I am seventeen years old._

The nurse ordered the brunette to move out of the way, and he felt her cool warmth vanish as she obeyed. He felt his spine stiffen as the nurse's grip on his shoulder tightened.

_She left you. See? You're not worth it._

_Not nearly enough._

_And as soon as you take those pills, she's not coming back._

_None of them are._

_You'll be alone._

_You _are_ alone._

_When did your mom visit last?_

_That's right, she hasn't yet._

_Not gonna waste any more of her time on you._

_She's probably glad to be rid of you._

_Up until now she just regretted not doing what your dad was smart enough to do when you were eight._

"Noah," the nurse said sternly. "You are not the only patient I have to see. The faster you take them, the sooner it'll be over."

_You're weak._

_Weakling!_

_Belong with the trash._

"I don't want 'em," he said.

_No one cares what you want._

"You have to take them. It's for your own good."

_You know when they say that that it's poison._

He froze.

_They're trying to kill you._

_Slowly._

_But surely._

_Probably at your mom's request._

"Take them, Noah."

"No." He could feel his heart rate escalating and another lump rising in his throat. His head was swimming.

"Noah. I will count to three, and then I'll have to call Rick and Ted."

_Weakling._

He swallowed, his nostrils flaring as he breathed.

"One."

_Weak, weak, weak._

"Two."

He grabbed the pill cup, crushed it in his fist, and hurled it across the room.

As the nurse barked commands at the orderlies and another nurse, he pulled himself to his feet, knocking over his chair as he attempted to circle around her. But he'd stood up too fast, and the dizziness took over. He stumbled, shakily bracing himself with one arm against the nearest wall. The room was sliding in and out of focus. His neck felt like it didn't have a solid grip on his head. He couldn't fight the orderlies and the nausea at the same time, and he knew it.

The room pitched forward, and he retched violently onto the floor.

Ted, who had been about to grab him to help force the medicine down his throat, jumped back so the contents of his stomach wouldn't land on his shoes. A nearby patient yelped and ran to the other side of the room while the rest of them craned their necks to see what the commotion was. He could hear the brunette crying behind him.

"My name is Noah Puckerman," he said, his voice low and cracking, his words awkward in his mouth. "I'm seventeen years old."

"Good job, kiddo," Ted said dismissively. The nurse handed him another pill cup with a fresh dose. "Come on, open up."

"Can't you see he's sick?" cried the black girl, only to be shushed by their teacher.

He shut his eyes, drained and dizzy, and leaned against the wall, wishing he could just go to sleep and not wake up again. But it was only a few seconds before he felt Ted's hand grip the back of his neck, and without really thinking at all, he swung his arm out and sluggishly punched Ted in the ear.

The girls both gasped, and Ted stepped back in mild surprise. One nurse turned to the other and said, "Get a dose of Haldol in here, _now_."

"My name is Noah Puckerman," he said again, drawing himself up to his full height on unsteady legs. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. "I'm seventeen years old."

"The hell is he going on about?" Rick asked.

"Beats me," Ted replied with a shrug.

"My name is Noah Puckerman," he repeated, louder. He pointed a shaky finger at the brunette. "Her name is Rachel." Then at the black girl. "She's Mercedes." At the realization that he could recall the girls' names, a small wave of triumph rippled over him.

"He's doing the memory game again," said Rick knowingly.

"What?"

"Couple days ago he started listing off the names of the nursing staff for no reason."

"Funny," Ted said, crossing his arms and gesturing with his head to the teacher. "What's his name?"

The girls' jaws both dropped at the blatant challenge. His eyes flickered over to his teacher's face, the expression unreadable. The lump in his throat suddenly felt twice as big.

"Time's up, kiddo," Ted nonchalantly said a few seconds later.

He didn't miss the disappointment on his teacher's face as he turned his gaze back to the orderlies. Ted was now coming closer, flanked by Rick and holding one hand behind his back. But this had happened once before and he knew that Ted was hiding a syringe.

And he'd go to Hell before he willingly let Ted stick him with it.

"Get away from me!" he shouted.

"Noah, we talked about the yelling," Ted replied smoothly.

He backed into the wall, his jaw muscle twitching. "Don't fucking touch me."

"We talked about the swearing, too, kiddo."

He bristled - the orderlies _knew_ he hated being called kiddo - but said nothing more.

When Ted was within arm's reach he tried to hit him again, but Ted was ready this time and together with Rick the two men grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to the ground. "No!" he yelled. "Let _go!_" He kicked and thrashed and hit, but another orderly appeared and grabbed his arms, locking them in place as Rick did the same with his legs. He felt a sharp pinch in his thigh, and he didn't have to look down to know that Ted had driven the needle home. "_No!_" he screamed. The emptied syringe was withdrawn.

"This isn't fair," he heard Rachel whisper.

His toes and fingers were already beginning to feel numb, but the orderlies still held on relentlessly to his limbs, waiting for the drug to take full effect. The droning voices in the back of his head were starting to fade.

"You can have your pills when you wake up," said the nurse from above him.

He couldn't hold his head up any longer, and he let it drop to the floor. He teeth felt like they were coming loose. _My name is Noah... I am..._ The faces of the orderlies were growing fuzzier by the second; his eyes rolled back, his lids sliding shut a moment later. _My name is Noah..._ He thought he could hear the people around him speaking, but their voices grew quiet and distorted. He was barely aware that the orderlies had let go of him. _My name is..._ Every cell in his body felt like lead. He couldn't move. Was he breathing? He couldn't tell.

_My name is..._

**A/N: I feel the need to apologize for the intensity in this chapter; I just thought it was important to show something from Puck's point of view. As for Rachel singing to him, I do NOT support Puckleberry - I only felt that it was something Rachel would do in that situation. The song she sings is called _The King of Chicago_ by Hugh Blumenfeld, who is unspeakably amazing. Seriously, look him up. Also, since the last time I updated this, I've posted three more installments of the _Expect the Unexpected_ series - for Mercedes, Kurt, and Santana. Go to my profile and read them - they're in different genres than this if you're looking for something lighter. Kurt's is scary, though. Just a warning.**

**Okay, please leave a review and let me know what you think.**


	4. Time Bomb

**A/N: I've actually had this written for nearly a month, but I was completely at a loss for how to end it. Let me know how I did.

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_Sun Gone Lost_**  
**

Neither Rachel nor Mercedes uttered a single word on the way back from the hospital, and it was a little unsettling to see both of the Glee club's most outspoken members so quiet. A quick glance in the rearview mirror showed Will that Mercedes was staring out the window with Rachel leaning on her shoulder, both lost in their own thoughts. Will sighed and returned his eyes to the road. If there was one good thing that had come out of Puck being hospitalized, it was that the Glee members had begun to bond in ways that would not have happened otherwise. He doubted that the football team could say as much.

When he and the rest of the club had finally wrapped their brains around the fact that Puck wasn't going to be back any time soon, they'd held another round of auditions and gotten Jake Harris, another jock from the football team with less personality than Karofsky's fist, and most of the club was still refusing to acknowledge his presence during practices. Will felt slightly guilty about it, but he was secretly glad that they were giving Jake the straight-arm. Their behavior did mean that they were staying loyal to Puck, after all, and wasn't loyalty what he'd been trying to establish all along? And yes, he was aware of how conflicted that was. He'd been reluctant to give Jake any singing parts at all, so in a way he was doing the same thing. Assigning parts had become even more difficult since Jake joined the club, mostly because he had the exact same singing range as Puck. It was one thing to work around Puck's absence. It was another thing entirely to give what should have been his to a near-total stranger.

And all of this paled in comparison to the fact that Puck didn't know who he was.

Will had known ahead of time that seeing Puck in the hospital and just knowing to any extent what he was going through would be difficult for both himself and the kids in the club. He had researched schizophrenia extensively before his visit with Finn and Quinn to try to understand what exactly what was going on in Puck's brain, why the firing of neurons had suddenly gone haywire. But nothing he could have done would have come close to preparing him for actually seeing it in the flesh. Before Beth had entered the world, Puck had been the very embodiment of confidence – most of the time it was real and when it wasn't it was Puck's priority to keep up appearances. Now, after seeing Puck trying to fight the nurses and the effects of the drugs at the same time, while at war with his own brain, if someone had asked Will to describe the condition in one word, he would have said _fear._ And that was a word that none of his research had brought up.

After dropping Rachel off at her house, he drove Mercedes home. To his surprise, as Mercedes climbed out of the car, Quinn came out of the house and approached the driver's side window.

"Hey, Quinn," Will greeted her.

"How is he?"

Will sighed. "He's…he's fighting hard. What about you?"

Quinn avoided the question and asked one of her own. "Mr. Schue? Do you have any way of contacting Ms. Corcoran?"

He frowned in surprise. "Yeah, why?"

She bit her lip. "I'm Beth's mother…" she started. At Will's shocked expression, she hastily said, "I'm not talking about taking her back, Mr. Schue; the adoption papers have already been signed. But I'm Beth's biological mother, so it's my responsibility to tell Ms. Corcoran what's happening to Puck."

Will felt his stomach twist. He hadn't even thought of how Beth would factor in to the whole situation and what Puck's illness could mean for her. But telling a new mother that her baby girl's brain was a potential time bomb waiting to go off was a task that should not fall on a sixteen-year-old.

"I'll do it," he said.

"What?"

"I'll tell Ms. Corcoran what's going on." Quinn opened her mouth to protest, but Will cut her off. "Really, Quinn, I'll do it. It shouldn't be your job."

She ran her fingers through the ends of her hair in agitation, glancing up at the cloudy sky. "I'm her mother," she said again.

"I know," he replied softly. "Don't worry. I'll let you know how it goes. Okay?"

She nodded, swallowing. "I, uh… I'll see you Monday, then."

* * *

The next day, a Saturday, Will called Shelby up and asked that she meet him for a cup of coffee at a diner near the Carmel High campus. She seemed to sense that something was off about his tone of voice, but she agreed, and when he arrived she was already sitting in a booth at the far end of the diner.

"This isn't a date, is it?" she said when he sat down. It wasn't really a question.

Will couldn't help but smile sadly at that. He didn't know Shelby very well, but she was definitely one of the most straightforward people he knew; it was a trait she'd passed on to Rachel. "I…have some news," he started, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"Is Rachel all right?" she asked immediately.

"Yeah, yeah. Rachel's fine," he assured her, fiddling with his car keys on the tabletop and not meeting her gaze. "It's actually about Beth."

Her lips tightened slightly, her eyes wary. "What about Beth?"

He sighed, trying to figure out how to word what he wanted to say.

"Does Quinn want her back?" she questioned. "Because I—"

"No! No, Beth is your daughter now, Quinn understands that."

"Then what is it?"

"Noah Puckerman… Beth's dad, that is—"

"I know who he is."

"Right. Well, he… he's been hospitalized."

Shelby didn't say anything for a few seconds, her protective expression slowly melting into one of worry. "What happened?"

"He's been diagnosed with schizophrenia."

Shelby froze. It was clear from her expression that she'd thought he meant a different kind of hospital – car crash at best, cancer at worst. "How – how bad is it?"

Will shook his head. "I'm not a doctor. I can't tell you how bad it is," he admitted. He leaned back in the booth. "I've been visiting him for the past few weeks, and he's been pretty out of it most of the time – they have him medicated. I'm sorry."

She looked out the window, clasping her hands on the table. "It's genetic, isn't it?"

"I did a lot of research on it," Will said, "and apparently it runs in families, but it's triggered by something besides. Like, drugs or stress. Just…be careful. Make sure Beth's careful."

She nodded. It was obvious she was still processing the information, so Will decided to leave her alone. He stood up and gave her shoulder a squeeze, muttering a hasty goodbye before leaving the café and shivering in the autumn air.

* * *

**A/N: Please leave a review. Next chapter, we return to Puck inside the ward. Also, new installments have been posted! Check out _Somewhere Under the Rainbow_, _Mind Over Matter_, and _Aquarius_ for Rachel & Mr Schue, Artie, and Tina's unexpected stories!  
**


	5. Invasive

**A/N: I do believe that this is my fastest update on this story so far. I'm not sure why, but I really enjoyed writing this chapter.

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**

_Sun Gone Lost_

It had been a good week for Puck, all things considered – namely that he was medicated and in a mental hospital. But his episodes had been growing less frequent, and so he wasn't quite so heavily drugged all the time. Which meant he was free to move about the ward on his own. The nurses still kept one eye on him at all times, just in case of a sudden attack, but at least he wasn't restricted to sitting on the couch, practically drooling as he slipped in and out of consciousness, barely able to feel anything below the neck. He was also able to remember his name a lot more easily than before, along with the names of most of the nursing staff, without needing to glance at his piece of paper (though he still kept it in his pocket just in case).

Unfortunately for him, it had also been a good week for Tyler.

Tyler Rooney was one of the ward's resident manic-depressives and was also Puck's roommate. A good week for Tyler meant that Puck was constantly hammered with a barrage of questions and nonsensical ramblings that were hard to ignore. Tyler was currently perched on the other end of the couch Puck was sitting on, watching one of the nurses. Puck, on the other hand, was half-curled against the couch arm, absorbed in a notebook propped against his knee.

"She's kinda hot, isn't she? Wendy, I mean."

Puck sent an irritated glare in Tyler's direction, but Tyler didn't pick up on it because he was still watching the nurse.

"Isn't she?" Tyler repeated, seeking confirmation.

Puck sighed and focused on his doodles. He'd tried to make it clear that he didn't like interacting with people, but Tyler was persistent, and with the roommate factor Puck had had no opportunity to pretend that he was mute or deaf or anything of the like. Tyler was a lanky guy, a little older than Puck, with spindly limbs at all angles and shaggy dark hair that constantly covered his eyes and made him look like the kind of kid who'd bring a gun to school. The kind of kid Puck would've been merciless to in a normal environment.

"Come on, man, she's gotta be at least a D-cup—"

"You might get off on the naughty nurse thing, but I don't," Puck snapped, not looking up from his notebook.

"What are you drawing, anyways?" Tyler asked, unfazed, craning his neck to peer curiously over the top of Puck's notebook.

Puck sent him a withering look and slapped the notebook against his chest so that whatever he'd been doing wasn't visible. "Get the hell outta my airspace, man."

Tyler smiled and sat back. Puck huffed and absorbed himself in his doodles again.

"So if the naughty nurse isn't your type, what is?"

"I've said it before and I'll say it again. Just 'cause you and me sleep in the same room, it doesn't mean I wanna talk to you."

"Ouch. Cuts me deep, Noah." Tyler dug some wax out of his ear, his leg jiggling. "So what are they saying today?"

"Who?"

"You know." Tyler looked pointedly at Puck and tapped his temple.

Puck's eyes narrowed. "That's none of your fucking business," he said in a low tone.

"Aw, come on, man," Tyler said, his mouth curving in a lopsided smile. "You don't think it's amazing that the human brain can create sounds that don't actually exist? You don't think that's _cool_?"

Puck stared at Tyler for a good thirty seconds, trying to decide what the best way to punch him in the nose would be. But he was painfully aware that the orderlies always had syringes of Haldol prepared for when patients got a little violent. He wasn't sure how long he could put up with Tyler's badgering, though, and miserably estimated that he'd end up with a needle in his leg by the end of the day.

Tyler was off on a bit of a tangent now, talking rapidly with jerking hand gestures emphasizing nearly every other word. "Did you know that there's more cells in the human brain than there are stars in our _galaxy?_ That's some fucked-up shit, man. I mean, the human body is so fucking complex, you know? It's like, we evolved from monkeys and animals, and we still have all this shit in our bodies left over from them, and we don't even get what half of them _do_ – I mean, look at the appendix, man. Or-or-or arm hair. What fucking purpose do they serve any more? None. They're useless. Wisdom teeth, too. And teeth are like the ultimate natural weapon, you know – combined with the power of a snapping jaw they can take down an animal the size of a fucking elephant."

Tyler was so deep into his ramble that he didn't notice Puck drop the crayon he'd been using and place his hands over his ears. With a slight chuckle, he said, "Man, if they really wanted to get rid of all the sharp shit in our possession and stop us from killing ourselves, they'd have yanked our teeth out at the fucking door."

Puck pinched his nose. "Fucking hell, Rooney, I do not need that kinda imagery."

"Good morning, boys," crooned Nurse Regina as she approached with a tray of pill cups. Puck managed to take the cup, swallow its contents, and give it back without making eye contact with her. Even when he could remember her name, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up when she was within arm's reach.

Tyler managed to stay quiet for only two seconds after Regina had left to finish her rounds. "What was _that_, man? Aren't you like Johnny Rebel? Since when do you suddenly take your meds without a fuss?"

"Since they don't make me drool," Puck answered dryly. "Go away."

Tyler crossed his legs and sat on the couch so that he was fully facing Puck, leaning forward eagerly. "What is it with you and her, anyway?"

"Who?"

"Reggie."

"_Reggie?_"

Tyler shrugged. "Easier to say than 'Nurse Regina'. Though 'Nurse Regina' does have a porn-star quality to it that I like…"

Puck sighed, tugging at his ear and flipping to a new page in annoyance.

"So?" Tyler prompted. "How come you go all mute and stiff whenever she's around?"

"She's shoved the fucking pills down my throat more times than I can count, and she's stuck me with a needle at _least_ twice. I'm not about to thank her. Now, will you please for fuck's sake take a hint and _leave._"

Tyler held up his hands in a half-joking peace gesture. "All right, all right. I know when I'm not wanted."

Puck glared at him as he watched the lanky boy stride off. _Not fucking likely_, he thought.

* * *

"Santana, can I talk to you for a minute?"

The Latina stopped in her tracks, thrown off guard as she'd been heading for the door with the rest of the Gleeks. Mr. Schue never asked to talk to her in private. That was for kids who either were falling behind the rest or had emotional issues. "Um, I guess," was her lame reply.

"Have a seat," he said once the rest of the club was gone, gesturing to the piano bench.

She sat. "Am I in trouble?"

"No, no. I'm just…concerned." He drew up a chair and straddled it backwards, regarding her with a disconcerting fatherly worry that she didn't appreciate.

"About what?" she snapped, maintaining her stony composure.

"You haven't volunteered to see Puck yet."

"…Not everybody did."

"Well, those people who didn't volunteer weren't that close to him."

Santana frowned, her gaze snapping up to meet his. "Were?" she echoed. "Puck's whacko, he's not dead."

"You see, Santana? That's exactly what I mean," Mr. Schue said, peering at her closely. "I know you've had…relations…with Puck in the past. And even if you want to convince yourself that you didn't care about him, that still gives you a major connection with him, regardless of where he is now."

Santana shifted. She didn't like personal conversations. Especially with teachers. Especially with anybody. "Whatever," was all she could think to say.

"Santana, everyone can tell that you miss him."

She sighed, rubbing her forehead with one hand and glancing at the ceiling. "Everyone?"

Mr. Schue smiled. "Yeah. Everyone. Even Brittany."

Santana let out an empty chuckle. "Brittany's smart about things that matter," she said under her breath.

Mr. Schue nodded. "This matters."

* * *

**A/N: Please leave a review! In other news, there's been one more _Expect the Unexpected_ installment hoisted - for dear Mike and Matt. It's titled _On the Rise_, go read it!**


	6. Granola

**AUTHOR'S NOTE (PLEASE READ): **Since I first started posting _Sun Gone Lost_, I've gotten nearly twenty messages (mostly by PM) from readers requesting that certain pairings be focused on in this story. I've responded to all of these requests politely, and a couple of you (you know who you are) have messaged me again, requesting the same thing a second time even though I declined it already. As a general rule of thumb, I don't delve into romance unless it actually serves the storyline for the better, and it's extremely rare that I take requests for anything (though it does happen on occasion). Ninety-nine percent of the time, I don't mind receiving requests of this nature because it shows that my readers are truly interested in what I'm writing about, which is definitely a good sign and I appreciate the gesture. However, with a story that deals with something like mental illness, requests like these are just plain offensive, _especially_ when there is nothing said about the story itself. I understand that the intent was not malicious in any way, but I've received far too many to _not_ take offense.

I am aware that this is a fanfiction and its first purpose is to entertain the Gleeful masses. And I also know that this series that I've been working my ass off for is supposed to be fun. But this story in particular is in a different realm than the rest of the _Expect the Unexpected _installments. Feel free to read the other _EtU_ stories and request pairings (you will most likely be disappointed, but it won't hurt to try and I won't be angry or offended, and there's a chance you might even get what you ask for). However, when you're reading _Sun Gone Lost_, know that I'm treating it with a very different kind of attention than the others. My main priority here is communicating what schizophrenia is actually like as best as I possibly can (and yes, I _am_ aware that no two schizophrenics are alike – this is just a template, compiled of what I've learned about the disease over time).

This might cost me a considerable percentage of my audience, and I realize that right now I probably sound like I'm putting myself on a pedestal, but I really, _really_ don't care. This needs to be said.

Schizophrenia is a terrifyingly real situation that many people suffer through every single day. It's scary, tragic, difficult, emotional, and extremely frightening to witness firsthand. I am not going to cheapen it by distracting from the illness and focusing instead on how Rachel or Quinn falls in love with Puck in his weakened state. That would be unfair and immoral.

If you're reading this story simply because you're hoping for a cheesy pairing, then you're in the wrong place. There are literally _thousands_ of other stories in the Glee archive alone that obsess over pairings, and hundreds of them are decently written. I can even point you to a few of them. But please, for the sake of this story, do not request romantic plot twists.

"_It is better to write for the self and have no public than to write for the public and have no self._"

* * *

_Sun Gone Lost_

_The day that everything went to shit had dawned windy and bitter. Quinn had trudged her way through her classes before Glee club assembled in the choir room for practice, and when she'd walked in Rachel was yattering away in Mr. Schue's ear about how she deserved to have the solo on _When You Got It, Flaunt It_ (even though it suited Brittany's voice better). A perfectly normal Thursday. She'd dropped into her seat next to Puck, who greeted her with an absent-minded nod._

"_Puck, are you okay?"_

_He gave her a strange look. "What?"_

"_Are you all right? You look…sick," she said._

_He shrugged and looked back to the front of the room, where Brad was puttering around on the piano. Quinn frowned, studying him. He really did look ill – his skin was a little paler than normal and there were shadows under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept in several nights. His eyes rose, silently following a path along the edge of the choir room ceiling, like he was watching something Quinn couldn't see._

_She dug around in her bag and pulled out one of the granola bars she always had with her, holding it out to him. "I didn't see you eating at lunch. Here."_

_He glanced at it. "No, thanks," he mumbled._

"_Puck, when was the last time you ate?"_

_He didn't answer._

"_Take the granola bar." She pulled the wrapper off halfway and held it out to him again._

_The second time he looked at it, he jumped and looked at her with a mix of disgust and alarm on his face. "The hell are you playing at?"_

"…_What?"_

"_I see what you're doing," he hissed. "You think it's funny."_

"_Puck, I have_ no idea _what you're talking about."_

"_Yeah, yeah, play innocent." He crossed his arms and snapped his gaze forward._

_Quinn remained in a stunned silence for several moments. "Puck," she said at long last. "What do you think I'm doing?"_

"_Do I have to spell it out for you?" he spat, still refusing to look at her. "You're fucking trying to poison me."_

"What!_"_

"_Trying to get me to eat bugs—"_

"_Puck, it's a_ granola bar_," she insisted. "You're freaking me out."_

"Stop it!_" he cried, his head whipping around to glare at her. She jumped, and by this point the other kids in the room were starting to look over. "You can play dumb all you want but you're not gonna fool me, you fucking bitch."_

"_Hey!" Mr. Schuester barked, having overheard from where he was standing by the piano. "Puck, you can either take a chill pill or you can leave. I don't want that kind of language in my classroom."_

_Puck gritted his teeth, taking in the various looks the other Gleeks were giving him. Kurt and Mercedes were angry, ready to jump in at Quinn's defense. Rachel, Mike, Matt, Finn, and Santana all looked startled. Brittany was glaring at him with her best kicked-puppy look. "Puck, that was mean," she said._

"_No, you know what's mean?" he snapped. "The fact that you're all in on it!"_

"_In on _what_?" Quinn cried, half exasperated and half terrified._

_Mr. Schue came over. "Puck, if this is some prank you're pulling, you'd better end it now, because it isn't funny."_

"'_Course it's not funny!" Puck shouted. Then he pointed to Quinn. "But _she _thinks it is! They all do!"_

"_What is going on with you?" Mercedes demanded._

"_There's nothing going on with me!"_

"_Puck," Mr. Schue said, his voice low and even. "My office. Now."_

"_No."_

"_Excuse me?"_

"_I said no. I didn't do shit, okay?"_

_Mr. Schue planted his hands on his hips. "Puck—" he started, clearly growing angrier._

"_What, so now you're taking their side?" Puck accused._

"_There's no sides to take here, Puck."_

"_Yeah, bullshit."_

"_Have you got something you want to share with the class?" Mr. Schue's voice was tight, almost challenging. He'd had enough of Puck's behavior._

"_How about that Quinn doesn't realize I'm trying to save her life?"_

_Mr. Schue's frown vanished, replaced by confusion and alarm. All eleven of the other people in the room seemed to simultaneously realize that something was off, that this wasn't just Puck being a dick. "Save her life from what?" Mr. Schue asked, his anger gone without a trace._

_Puck ran a hand over his scalp, bending over like he was about to be sick. "Fucking hell," he muttered._

"_Are you feeling all right, Puck?" Mr. Schue reached forward and put a hand on Puck's shoulder._

_Abruptly, Puck's arm whipped up and slapped his teacher's hand away, and he lurched to his feet, towering over Mr. Schue and yelling directly into his face. "_Don't touch me!_"_

"_Puck, I think you just need to calm down—"_

"You_ fucking calm down!" Puck shouted, shoving Mr. Schue hard enough so that the teacher had to stagger backwards a few steps to maintain his balance. "_Don't. Touch. Me_," he snarled, whipping around just as Quinn reached for his arm._

"_Puck, man—" Finn started, edging towards him with his hands held in a placating gesture._

_Puck's head cocked rigidly to the side, his body tense and full of warning. "Get away from me, Finn. I know you're in on it with the rest of them."_

_

* * *

_

Puck sat slouched in the uncomfortable armchair situated for patients in the office of Dr. Greg Lanning, a large-ish black man with a penchant for the casual jeans-and-a-polo appearance, though Puck was pretty certain that Lanning's way of dress was a subtle attempt to make himself seem friendly and less threatening to his patients. Puck wasn't exactly sure how high up on the hospital food chain Lanning was, but judging by the minimal but expensive décor, he at least _thought_ he was the big cheese.

"Why do you think you wake up at that particular point every time you have this dream?" Lanning inquired, eyebrows arched in professional curiosity.

"Fuck if I know."

"Do you think it might have something to do with your relationship with Finn?"

Puck shrugged, chewing on his thumbnail. "Finn's my friend. That simple."

"But you impregnated his girlfriend. Fathered a child he thought was his."

"I'm a dick, everyone knows that."

Lanning quirked an eyebrow and scrawled something on his notepad, falling silent for almost a full minute. "Is it possible that you feel most guilty about accusing Finn of being out to get you?" he asked when he'd finished writing.

"How the _fuck_ would I know that? You're the psychologist, you've got the degree. You figure it out."

"I'm sure the nurses have told you multiple times, Noah, but language like that really doesn't help the situation."

He shrugged. "It's the way I talk, doc."

"How are things going in the rest of the world?"

"Pretty generic question, don't you think?"

Lanning shrugged. "Better to start with the generic and then work our way down to the specifics, though."

Puck toyed with a loose thread in his plaid pajama bottoms. "Things are going slowly. Same as last week."

"Do you think you're making progress?"

"Well, I've been drooling less…"

"Come on, Noah," Lanning urged. "Drop the attitude."

"Look, doc, I don't know exactly what you want from me here."

Lanning draped one leg over the other, lacing his fingers around his knee. "You must realize by now that I'm trying to help you."

"Yeah, sure." Puck tore a hangnail away from his index finger with his teeth, his leg jiggling. "I expose my soul and you make the big bucks."

Lanning quirked an eyebrow, deciding to veer the conversation in a more concentrated direction. "Any hallucinations recently?"

"Define recent."

"Today."

"Well, there was a rat in my room this morning, but Tyler didn't see it, so I'm pretty sure that it wasn't there. Not to mention it was walking on the ceiling."

Lanning scribbled on his notepad. "How is Tyler?"

Puck frowned. "Why the fuck are you asking me about Tyler?"

"Well, Tyler's your roommate, and so he factors into your wellbeing."

"You know…going back to the flashback nightmares, I have a feeling my sleep habits would be a hell of a lot better if I didn't have Tyler Fucking Rooney yapping in my ear for at least three hours a night."

"What are you guys talking about?"

"_We're_ not talking about anything. He, on the other hand, will talk about anything he finds remotely interesting, which usually means shit like one of the nurses getting a boob job or how to murder someone in the shortest amount of time while inflicting the greatest amount of pain."

"We've been speaking with Tyler about restraining himself in his social interactions, but it will take some time."

"Yeah, you said that last week," Puck snapped. "I got a better idea. How about you actually put those straitjackets you keep lying around to use, stick Rooney in a padded cell, and do us all a favor?"

"Isolation is reserved as a last resort, Noah, you know this." Lanning marked a couple things down and moved on to another question. "How do you feel about your mother not visiting?"

A muscle in Puck's jaw twitched and he turned to glower out the window, watching a flock of swifts ride the wind. He reached up to chew on his thumbnail again.

"Noah?"

"I don't wanna talk about it."


	7. Thrash

**A/N: Thanks so much for your reviews last chapter; I'm glad that most of you agree with me and you all can be sure that _Sun Gone Lost_ will NOT be turned into a romance.**

_

* * *

_

"Whatchya drawing?"

Puck looked up from his notebook to see that Tyler had straddled the chair across the table and was leaning forward, trying to peer at what Puck was scribbling. "How many times do I gotta tell you? It's fucking private."

Tyler craned his neck. Puck snatched the notebook and stuck it onto his lap underneath the table. "What did I _just_ say, Rooney?"

"Yeesh, relax, man."

"Dude, I have a personal space bubble, and I'm not gonna relax until you're outside of it."

Tyler held up his hands in a mock peacemaking gesture, leaning back in his chair. "Why are you so secretive about that shit anyways?"

Puck remained tense. "What?" he said tightly.

"Are you planning an escape or something?" Tyler's eyes glinted. "'Cause dude, that'd be awesome. Are you gonna fill me in? You'll need someone to help; you'll need a partner. You should pick me, I'm really good with a pickaxe."

_Ha, pickaxes can do a lot of damage._

_Especially in the neck region._

_Lots of blood!_

Puck's head spun a little, though he wasn't sure whether it was from his meds, his voices, or the rush of words falling from Tyler's mouth. "I'm not planning a breakout, okay? And even if I was, you'd be the _last_ person I'd pick to help."

"Aw, cuts me deep, buddy."

"I'm not your buddy."

"Do you even have a buddy? Any friends at all? You don't strike me as the kinda guy who's got friends; you strike me as the lone wolf type."

Puck stared at him. He wasn't usually the kind of guy who was affected by the shit people said about him, but that had _stung_. "I have friends," he said lowly.

"Yeah? Where are they?"

_Not coming_.

"They're at home, dumbass. None of them are mental cases like you."

"You mean like _us._"

Puck grimaced. He didn't like being rolled into a collective pronoun with Tyler. "Whatever," he retorted lamely.

_Nice one, shithead._

_Shut the fuck up,_ he thought.

_Make us._

"So I was walking by the nurse's station this morning, and Reggie _winked_ at me," Tyler said, grinning widely. "She _winked_, man – I'm as good as laid."

"Seriously?" Puck said flatly, still clutching his notebook under the table. "You want to get down and dirty with _her_?"

"Yeah, why not? She's _hot_."

_You should probably make a move on her too. After all, who else would fuck you after this?_

"She's also the spawn of Satan."

"Then she'll probably make for one hell of fuck." Tyler's grin widened. "Get it? She's the spawn of Satan and she'll be one _hell_ of a fuck?"

"Yeah, I got it," Puck drawled. "Can't you find somewhere else to fantasize? I'm busy here."

"Doing what?" Tyler asked.

"We already went over this."

"Did we?"

"Yeah, we did," Puck snapped. "Now get the _hell _out of here and leave me alone!"

"Yeesh. You are way uptight. I'll see you later." Tyler rolled his eyes and sauntered off to talk to Nurse Regina.

_Uptight; got a stick up your ass._

_Shut up,_ Puck thought again, placing his notebook back on the table and flipping back to the page he'd been working on. He briefly noticed that his handwriting had started to get even messier.

_Next time that fucker comes near you—_

—_you should punch him—_

—_hurt him—_

—_blood; he'd look good in red—_

_SHUT UP._ Puck didn't notice that he'd dropped his crayon and was staring a hole into the tabletop as he fought to push the voices to the back of his mind.

_Wouldn't be too hard—_

—_the guy's a beanpole—_

_You could snap him like a twig!_

_Crunch go the ribs._

_And the spine._

_He'd look good in red._

* * *

Santana shivered as she climbed out of Mr. Schuester's piece-of-shit car, staring up at the brick face of St. Clair's Psychiatric Institution. "This is it?"

Mr. Schue nodded solemnly, locking the car. Santana pulled her coat tighter around her torso (she'd exchanged her Cheerios uniform for jeans and a shirt) and followed her teacher towards the entrance, wishing for the thousandth time since they'd left Lima that Brittany was with her. But she'd thought that bringing Brittany to a mental hospital was a bad idea, and as she and Mr. Schue walked through the front door, she became sure of it. This was not a place for someone like Brittany, who fiercely believed that rainbows were made of Skittles and unicorns could play leapfrog without injuring each other. Brittany would've just been confused and upset. Santana took a slow breath, staring down the long hallway behind the receptionist's desk.

"You okay?" Mr. Schue asked.

"I'm fine."

Mr. Schue stared at her for a second, as if he was trying to figure out whether she was lying or not, before turning his attention to the ancient receptionist. "Hi, we're here to see Noah Puckerman," he said. She handed them their Visitor IDs and Mr. Schue guided Santana down the corridor.

"Why is it so cold in here?" Santana asked, not really sure why she was speaking so quietly. "Aren't sick people supposed to be kept warm?" Mr. Schue didn't answer as they entered the Day Room. Santana shivered again, crossing her arms over her chest. She hated this place already.

They only had to wait about thirty seconds before a doctor came in from another door. "Good news," he said to Mr. Schue. "Noah's been doing better. He should be pretty coherent today."

Mr. Schue sighed in relief. "Thank God," he said. Santana swallowed as she pictured what 'not coherent' might look like.

The doctor led them down another hallway and they were suddenly in another room like the Day Room. It was brighter and warmer in here, and the walls were painted sea foam green with white paneling. There were couches and cushy armchairs occupied by various patients, and Santana noticed that very few of them actually looked insane. There was only one young woman sitting alone and muttering to herself. The rest of them looked normal. There was a group of three guys playing poker and exchanging candies for the betting pool, and a few people were reading quietly on their own. Santana wasn't sure which was more unsettling – the fact that these people were mentally ill or the fact that they didn't look the part.

"There he is," Mr. Schue said, drawing her attention away from the other patients.

Puck was sitting at a table by himself with a notebook in front of him, though he wasn't writing in it. He was completely zoned out, staring into space, and he didn't see them as they approached.

"Puck?" Mr. Schue said.

Puck didn't move. Santana fleetingly wondered if the doctor had been wrong about him being better, or if this _was _better for Puck, in which case Santana was sure she never wanted to see him worse.

"Puck," Mr. Schue repeated.

Puck blinked, snapping out of his trance. "Huh? Oh. Hey, Mr. Schue." He coughed and closed his notebook, moving it onto his lap under the table. Mr. Schue pulled out a chair and sat down, gesturing for Santana to do the same.

"How are you doing?" Mr. Schue asked.

Puck sighed, scratching at the back of his head. "I dunno. Okay, I guess. I don't really do much."

Santana studied him, saying nothing. He looked worn out and exhausted. There were dark shadows under his eyes and it was clear he didn't get much sleep. The chiseled look to his facial features made it look like he didn't eat much either.

"How's Britt?"

For some reason, the question threw Santana a little off-guard. She wasn't sure why, but she'd thought that Puck wouldn't be concerned with the goings-on back at school. "Uh, she's fine. She wanted to see you today, but she had a dentist appointment," she lied.

Puck nodded in understanding.

"What were you working on just now?" Mr. Schue asked.

Puck's eyes hardened. "Nothing," he bit out.

"Sorry," Mr. Schue said, realizing that he'd overstepped a boundary he hadn't known was there. "The doctor said you're doing better."

Puck shrugged. "I guess. Not drooling as much, so I call that a win."

Santana winced. She didn't like that mental picture.

"Have you made any friends here?" Mr. Schue inquired. Santana could tell he was forcing the small talk.

"Hell no. All these people are nutjobs."

Santana blinked, thrown off-guard again by the callous and slightly hypocritical statement. Puck seemed to have forgotten he said it and was staring out the window at a flock of swifts passing by.

"Mr. Schue?" Santana ventured after a few moments of silence. "…Can I talk to Puck for a bit?"

"Yeah, sure," he said. "If anything happens, just call one of the orderlies." He stood up and went to talk with the doctor for a bit, leaving Santana to wonder what he meant by 'anything'.

Puck was still looking out the window and hadn't noticed Mr. Schue leave. Santana rested her hands in her lap and tried to figure out what to say. Eventually she settled for a halfhearted, "How are you doing? I mean, really?"

He turned around at the sound of her voice and scrutinized her with a strange expression that she couldn't quite read. Thinking that maybe he hadn't heard her, she repeated her question. He stared at her for a few more seconds and then said, "I'm sick and life sucks."

Santana twisted her fingers together nervously. "I miss you," she said softly.

He blinked in confusion. "You do?"

She shrugged and wouldn't meet his eye, unused to feeling this exposed. "You were the only person besides Brittany who really liked me."

Puck frowned, though Santana couldn't tell whether he was thinking about what she'd said or if he was listening to something she couldn't hear.

"How long do you think you'll be in here?" she asked, hoping for a quick change of topic. Puck didn't respond, still frowning. His eyes were out of focus. "Puck?"

Then several things happened in quick succession. Puck lurched to his feet and _jumped_ across the table, slamming into Santana so that her chair tipped backwards and in the blink of an eye, she was on her back and Puck's hands were clamped around her neck. Panic began to boil in her stomach as his thumbs pressed painfully against her windpipe and her lungs screamed for air. As her legs kicked desperately, she could hear the orderlies and Mr. Schue yelling and she could see a pair of orderlies' arms trying to pull Puck off her, but her focus was on Puck's face.

He didn't look like Puck.

Her mouth stretched wide as she tried to breathe, to no avail. Then, just as the edges of her vision were turning dark, the orderlies yanked Puck back and the pressure disappeared from her windpipe. She reflexively sucked in a massive gulp of air, doubling over in coughs, and suddenly found that Mr. Schue was holding her and frantically asking if she was all right. She managed a weak nod, still coughing violently, and realized that she was crying at the same time. Mr. Schue drew her into a hug, and, forgetting the HBIC façade she so stoically maintained, she didn't push him off, collapsing into sobs.

Puck was yelling as the orderlies held him back, thrashing against their hold with all the strength he had. His legs kicked against the linoleum and his arms were lashing out, reaching for her as he screamed at the top of his lungs, "_SHE'S GOT A KNIFE! THE BITCH HAS A KNIFE!_" One of the orderlies reappeared from the nurse's station with a syringe and another one pulled Puck's pajama bottoms down to expose his hip. Santana turned away, a hand over her eyes as the needle pierced his skin.

"It's okay, it's okay," Mr. Schue was saying, and she wanted to argue that no, it really fucking _wasn't_.


	8. Hiss

**A/N: Sorry for the delay - I've been in the hospital. This chapter's a little short, but I hope it's good anyways.

* * *

**

_Sun Gone Lost_

Puck woke up in shackles and yelled for fifteen minutes before Ted popped his head into the Solitary room to tell him to pipe down, slamming the door shut behind him. Puck dropped back onto the bed, his throat sore and dry from the combination of his meds and the shouting. The edges of his brain still felt fuzzy from the Haldol, but the anti-psychotics had started to wear off and voices were now slipping in through the cracks.

_All alone, buddy._

_No place to go, no one to talk to._

_No one to ask for help._

_Excuse me, are you tied up at the moment?_

A ripple of cackling laughter washed over his head as he pulled at the cuffs on his wrists. The joke hadn't even been funny.

_Do you remember what you did?_ asked one of them as the laughter died away after a few moments.

_Do you?_

"I'm not playing this game!" he cried to the empty room.

_Santana,_ they hissed. _You tried to _kill_ her._

"You _made_ me!"

_Don't be ridiculous, you did it yourself._

_It was your hands around her neck, wasn't it?_

_Cutting off her air._

"Shut UP!"

_Go on, make us._

_Let's see you try._

_Ha ha!_

Puck tried to sit up, but his hands and feet were shackled so closely to the bed that he could do little more than lift his head. "Somebody help me!" he screamed towards the door. His heart skipped a beat as the walls of the room began to ripple and bend as if they were made of water. He felt something slither across his chest and suddenly he was looking into the red eyes of a copperhead snake. Its tongue flicked out, smelling him. The ceiling creaked and rolled above.

Light to his left caught his eye and he yelped when he saw that the curtain over the window had burst into flames. He yanked at the shackles again.

_Been playing with matches again, have you?_ said the snake with a slight grin, fangs glinting. _You should know better._

"_Somebody help!_" Puck screamed, struggling. The snake was getting heavier.

_There's no one there,_ it chuckled.

A wave of heat from the fire stung the insides of Puck's nostrils as he breathed. The snake slithered around his neck, the scales scraping lightly against his skin. Puck shuddered, unable to do anything but lay almost still, until finally – _finally_ – the door swung open and three orderlies surrounded him. He screamed – their faces seemed to be melting off of their skulls. One of them stabbed him in the thigh with a needle, and in a few seconds, he was blissfully unconscious.

* * *

Will was so deep in thought as he stood in line at the grocery store that evening that he didn't notice the woman behind him until she accidentally bumped him with her cart.

"Oh, sorry," she said, looking haggard and exhausted.

Will frowned in recognition. "Mrs. Puckerman?"

Her head snapped up. "Ms." she corrected. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

He shifted his shopping basket to his other side so he could shake her hand. "I'm Will Schuester – I'm your son's Glee coach."

"Oh," she said. "Hi."

"I was really sorry to hear about what happened," he said honestly. "Puck was a big part of the club and I enjoyed having him in class."

She swallowed, averting her eyes. "Yes, well…he enjoyed being in your club," she responded courteously.

"You mind if I ask how he's doing?" Will ventured. "I've been to see him a few times, but since I'm not family the doctors really haven't told me anything and his friends at school are really worried about him."

She stared at him for a minute. "Um, well…" she started, her voice shaking a little. "I, uh, haven't seen him."

It took a few seconds for Will to understand what she was saying. "You haven't?" he said, unable to keep a hint of dismay out of his tone. She was Puck's _mother_.

She refused to meet his eye again, instead fiddling with the strap of her purse. "No, I haven't."

"He's having a really hard time," Will said gently. "I think he'd feel better if he could see you."

She sighed. "Mr. Schuester, I have a seven-year-old daughter to care for and three jobs to hold down. Noah's gotten himself into plenty of scrapes before."

At that, something snapped in Will's head and he couldn't help but reply sternly, "With respect, Ms. Puckerman, I don't think you understand what exactly is going on with him. He's _sick_. And he needs you."

Her expression hardened. "Do _not_ delve into my private life, Mr. Schuester. What goes on between me and my son is none of your business."

"I agree. Which means I shouldn't be the one telling you how he's doing. You should be finding that out for yourself." Will knew he was overstepping his bounds and acting completely inappropriately, but he was suddenly _pissed_ and his protective papa bear streak was kicking into overdrive.

"You're passing judgment before you know all the facts," she snapped. "As I said, it's no business of yours, so I'd appreciate it if you could just be on your way."

"Regardless of the facts involved, you are Puck's only parent. He doesn't need to see his friends right now, but he does need to see you. He needs to know you support him. Otherwise he might end up staying in the hospital for good."

She huffed. "I am currently working a seventy-hour work week so that I can pay for the hospital! So that Noah can get the help he needs! I don't have _time_ to visit him between work and taking care of his sister." She pursed her lips. "Look, Mr. Schuester, Noah is in good care, and I am doing the best that I can to support him. I have to prioritize. I don't have a choice."

"You could at least call him."

"What sort of mother do you think I am?" she demanded. "Of course I've tried calling him, but every time I do all I get is some doctor telling me that Noah's asleep, or that he's not coherent enough to talk on the phone. What do you want me to do?"

Will sighed.

"None of this is any concern of yours, Mr. Schuester," she repeated. "So please, don't talk to me about this again."


	9. Teeth

_Sun Gone Lost_

"So, Noah," started Dr. Lanning during their Friday afternoon meeting. "It's now been a week since the incident—"

"Why do doctors always do that?" Puck snapped, not meeting the psychiatrist's eyes.

"Do what?"

"Gloss over shit like that." Puck shifted in his seat, the plastic shackles chafing into his wrists. "You can just say that I attacked her; I know that that's what happened."

Lanning studied him, making Puck squirm a little. He didn't like being confined to both the psychiatric shackles and Lanning's office at the same time – it made him feel claustrophobic and more on guard than usual (which was really saying something).

"All right, you attacked her," Lanning conceded. "However, you've done very well since then. Have you given any thought to moving back into the ward with the others?"

"I didn't think that was up to me."

"Well, ultimately, it's not, but your opinion on the subject is important for me to know," Lanning explained, cleaning his glasses on the hem of his sweater. "In order to evaluate your mental state."

"My mental state?" Puck echoed. "Huh."

"So? Do you think you're ready to go back?"

Puck shrugged. "I dunno. I've gotten so used to rooming alone, I'm starting to enjoy it."

Lanning chuckled. "Your teacher called," he said. "He asked if you were up for a visit."

"And?"

"I told him that you weren't up for it until you'd moved back to the ward, at the very least. But it's crucial that you remember that there are friends and family members out there who care for you – you do have a support system."

Puck exhaled and leaned back in his chair, looking out the window.

"Look, Noah," Lanning said, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers in front of him. "I know it seems hopeless, but there are many people in your situation who, with the right kinds of therapy and medication, make it out of the hospital and lead very fulfilling lives. They hold down good jobs, they have families. It's tough, but they make it through."

Puck sighed. "Yeah, and how many of those people have it as bad as I do? I've already accepted that this is my life now."

"You don't want to be rid of the paranoia and hallucinations?"

"Sure I do, doc, but I have a hard time believing that taking pills is gonna make them go away."

Lanning nodded. "That's understandable." He leaned back in his chair again. "Do you hear them now?"

Puck swallowed. "Yeah. Always."

* * *

_March_

Will was now more than familiar with the routine of getting a Visitor's ID, walking down the long hallway to the Day Room and then waiting until a doctor or nurse came to escort him to the ward to see Puck, but this was the first time he was doing it alone, and it felt strange. Rachel, Finn, and Quinn had all wanted to come with him, but after what had happened with Santana, Will wasn't willing to put any of the kids in that sort of unpredictable situation again. Santana had been acting distant for the past two weeks, and Will made a mental note to have Emma schedule an appointment for her. Now, he was gazing out of the dusty window in the Day room and trying to think of what he was going to say to Puck when he saw him.

"Sir?"

He turned to see a male nurse standing by the door to the ward.

"You can come in now."

Will nodded and followed him, shoving his hands into his pockets. He silently prayed that this was one of Puck's better days.

To his surprise, Puck wasn't sitting at the table in the corner this time. Instead, he was curled against the arm of one of the sofas in the common area, holding a cushion to his chest and staring at the wall. A nurse was standing watch over him. When Will awkwardly took a seat on the other end of the couch, the nurse left, but not before ordering Puck to behave himself. Once she was gone, Puck let out a long, slow breath as his shoulders visibly relaxed.

"You really don't like her, do you?" Will said.

Puck shook his head, still looking at the wall.

"Me neither. I get creepy vibes from her."

Puck sighed again. "Yeah, she's kind of out to get me, and I'm pretty sure that that's not in my head." He shifted his grip on the cushion. "So where's the others?"

Will swallowed. "Well, uh… after what happened with Santana…"

"Oh."

"Look, Puck, I'm sorry—" Will started.

"It's fine," Puck cut him off. He let out a hollow chuckle. "My own damn fault, right?"

Will had no response to that.

Finally, Puck looked at his former teacher. "I know I'm crazy, Mr. Schue." His voice cracked slightly. "I just don't know it all the time."

* * *

Puck woke with a start in the middle of the night tangled in his bedsheets and staring at the crack in the ceiling. There was a putrid stench clogging the air that burned the inside of his nose with the scent of wet copper and iron. The hairs on the back of his neck were prickling uncomfortably and, for some reason, his heart was beginning to speed up. Then, over the murmur of his voices in the back of his head, he heard a steady _drip… drip… drip…_ coming from Tyler's side of the room. He twisted around in his bed, his eyes searching in the shadows, and saw Tyler sprawled in huge splotches of black.

Puck jumped and sat bolt upright, pressing against the wall and just staring at his roommate as the _drip… drip…_ seemed to grow louder and louder.

A smug voice cut through the pounding blood in his ears. _Told you he'd look good in red_.

* * *

_April_

"How are you coping?"

Dr. Lanning's question forced Puck's attention away from the office window. "With what?" Puck asked, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

"With Tyler being gone."

Puck frowned, his leg jiggling. "He didn't die."

"Probably thanks to you, actually," Lanning said, watching his patient and evaluating every movement. "If you hadn't yelled for the nurses, Tyler would be six feet under right now."

Puck shrugged. "Yeah, well, maybe he'd be better off."

"Tyler is in a more secure facility now."

"You mean he's in another hospital where they keep him so drugged up that he can't bite through his wrists again."

"Well…yes," Lanning allowed. "So? How are you coping with it?"

"There's nothing to cope with."

"If you say so," Lanning said, his tone indicating that he'd probably bring the subject up again in their next meeting. "Do you miss your family?"

Puck leaned back in his seat and looked out the window again, watching the clouds. "Not really."

"Do you think they miss you?"

Puck pulled a flake of skin off his lip. "I really don't give a shit."


	10. Walls

_May_

Finn chewed on his pencil and jiggled his leg as he waited for the minute hand on the clock to drag forward, finally signalling the end to the wasted hour that was US History class. "And a reminder that next week, you all have an essay due on an important figure in the Civil Rights movement..." Ms. Booth was drawling as each and every student in the class ignored her completely (Finn was actually pretty sure that his butt was numb at this point).

At long last, the bell rang in the corridor, and Finn quickly shoved all his books into his bag, shoving past a couple of kids on his way out the door and making a beeline for his locker. Kurt was leaning idly against the lockers next to Finn's, waiting for him.

"Dude, how'd you get ready so fast?"

"I had study hall," Kurt said with a shrug. "Hurry up, I have a big powerpoint to do for physics once we get home."

"But it's Friday..."

Kurt scoffed, but by this point Finn knew him well enough to know that the noise was meant to be affectionate rather than condescending. "Finn, just because you want to waste your weekend on Left4Dead and do _all_ your homework at the last minute possible does not mean that the rest of us have to."

"I absorbed like ten percent of that." Finn slung his backpack over his shoulder as his stepbrother rolled his eyes, and the two of them headed for the parking lot.

When they got home, they found Carole in the kitchen, pulling a pan of fresh banana muffins out of the oven. "Oh, my god, those smell _divine_," Kurt said. "Finn, stop drooling."

Carole chuckled. "They'll be cool in a minute, and then you can each have one. And Finn, don't think I don't know about the extra five you had the last time I made these."

Finn looked down sheepishly as Kurt smirked and said, "I told you she'd notice."

Then, Carole said something that nearly made both boys' heads spin round on their shoulders.

"Have either of you heard from Puck yet?"

Kurt nearly dropped the Odwalla drink that he was pulling out of the fridge. "What?" he said. "Puck's in the hospital; why would we have heard from him?"

"No, Puck's back home now."

"Since _when_?_" _Finn asked, his jaw hanging open.

"I don't know. I just happened to see his little sister while she was shopping with her mom this afternoon, and she told me that her big brother was back. So, unless Puck's got another brother who's off at college and was never mentioned before..."

Finn yanked his cell phone out of his pocket. "I'm calling him," he announced, disappearing into the living room.

Kurt pulled himself up onto one of the stools next to the kitchen island. "So did Sarah or Ms. Puckerman say anything about how he's doing?"

Carole shook her head. "No, as soon as Ms. Puckerman heard was Sarah was talking about, she turned all stony and pulled Sarah away. But, I mean, if he's home, he has to be better, right?"

"God, I hope so," Kurt said, taking a gulp of his Odwalla. It had a hard time going down his throat.

Finn came back in, frowning deeply. "His cell's been disconnected," he said. "I called his house, but his mom told me not to call again and then hung up on me."

Carole eyebrows disappeared beneath her bangs. "God, that woman-" she said, shaking her head. "Sometimes I just want to grab her and shake her until she realizes what she's doing to those kids."

"What should I do?"

"I don't know, sweetie," Carole sighed. "If his mom doesn't want anyone near him, then maybe it's for a good reason. He is sick, after all. Who knows what could happen?"

"If he's not in the hospital, then that means he's better," Finn insisted.

"Finn, mental illnesses are really difficult to get rid of," Carole said gently. "He might still be very sick."

"Well, there's no way we'll know for sure unless his stupid mom lets him out of his cage!" Finn snapped, glaring at his phone as if he thought that being furious with it would make it connect with Puck's cell.

"Finn, calm down," Kurt said. "I'll see what I can find out from Tina. She lives on his street; maybe she's seen him around."

Finn swallowed and nodded, then grabbed a banana muffin and angrily bit into it before storming back out of the room.

* * *

Once Kurt was in the privacy of his upstairs bedroom, he flopped down on his bed and dialed Tina's number.

"_I don't care how many times you tell me that goth is dead, Kurt, I'm still not going shopping with you at Dolce and Gabbana._"

"I'm not calling about fashion, Tina," Kurt said. "I'm in dire need of some information."

He could practically hear the gossip wheels whirring to life in her head as she said, "_Continue._"

"You haven't happened to see Puck around, have you?"

There was silence on the other end, and Kurt could easily imagine the eager grin melting off her face. "_Wait...is he _back?"

"I'll take that as a no."

"_Oh my god, when was he discharged?_"

"Carole saw his mom and sister in the store today and his sister said that he was back. That's all we know."

"_Oh my god,_" Tina repeated. "_I'm calling everyone else._" There was a _click_, and she was gone.

Only a few minutes later, calls from the other Glee kids began to pour in, but Kurt was only able to repeat Carole's story for so long before he was fed up with it. Mike and Artie had also called Puck's house only to be abruptly shut down by his mother, and they'd already called Finn to plan an attack strategy in order to weasle past Ms. Puckerman and see if Puck was really back. Kurt quickly tried to stop them from moving forward with that plan, but the tone in both Artie and Mike's voices made Kurt sure that his advice and gone in their right ears and out their left. He nearly felt bad for Ms. Puckerman, and then he remembered the time that Puck told him that most of his little sister's parenting actually came from him.

_Screw it_, he thought. _She can suffer the consequences of Finn's dancing, Mike's ninja skills, and Artie's upper body strength. I don't give a crap._

* * *

After three separate attempts to ring the Puckerman doorbell from various members of the group, Finn, Mike, and Artie crouched behind the bushes near Tina's house, watching the front of Puck's house like hyenas waiting to pounce. Tina had been keeping an eye on the Puckermans and had told them that his mother usually left the house at around four in the afternoon to go to her second job, taking Sarah with her in order to drop her off at a friend's house, and so the four of them had been hiding since three-forty-five, waiting for the house to be left unattended.

At long last, the front door opened and Ms. Puckerman, looking haggard and irritated, stepped out, pulling Sarah behind her. They drove off, and once they were sure that the car had turned the corner, Finn and Mike trotted towards the house, Artie rolling quickly behind. Mike sprinted up the front steps and pushed the doorbell, which clearly rang inside the house, but after a second push and then a third, nobody came to the door.

"Maybe he's still in the hospital," Artie said. "Maybe he was only here for the weekend."

"Well, I'm not gonna leave until I know whether or not he's here," Finn stated definitively.

"Which window is his?" Mike said, looking up at the second floor. "I say we scale the house."

Ten minutes later, they'd finally found a way up onto the overhang over the porch, and Artie was waiting on the ground as Mike and Finn crawled across the shingles. Finn peered through the glass. "Holy shit, he's here."

Mike frowned. "I don't see him."

"He's asleep, dude."

"Screw that, I can only be away from my house until four thirty or my mom's going to freak." With that, Mike rapped loudly on the window. Puck stirred slightly, and Mike knocked again until Puck lifted his head and glanced out the window. He dragged himself to his feet and pushed the window open.

"You guys do realize how creepy this is, right?" he said.

Finn ignored the question. "Why didn't you tell us you were back, dude?" he asked, semi-gently.

"Because the only reason I'm back is because there was a problem with my insurance."

Neither Finn nor Mike knew what to say to that, but Mike ventured forward with, "So...the voices...?"

"Are as loud as ever."


	11. Tumble

_Sun Gone Lost_

Many things had changed in Puck's head over the past eight months of alternating between crippling paranoia and moments of reasonable normality, but one of the newer things he'd discovered was that he really, _really_ hated public places. He didn't like being around so many people he didn't know, and he didn't feel comfortable out in the open, where his voices would shout more loudly in his ears and lurking murderers with long knives could strike at any time. The feeling of horrible vulnerability was not one that Puck had experienced in his old normal life, and so logically, he understood that it was a symptom of the disease, but it didn't change the fact that even when he was doing nothing more than taking the trash from the front door to the sidewalk, he felt an urge stronger than any he'd ever felt to go back into the house, preferably to a bright room where he could curl up with his notebook, be by himself, and pretend that he wasn't insane.

Unfortunately for him, his mother worked three jobs, and his little sister was completely smitten with him. This meant that he had very little time to himself, and even though his mom no longer expected him to babysit, Sarah didn't understand that being alone with him was potentially dangerous, and often would sit on his bed with him and chatter away about nothing, or lounge on the couch next to him and add to the ever-growing collection of knotted bracelets that she occupied much of her time with making (Puck's arm now sported five of them, in addition to the first one she'd ever made for him).

But today, Puck's mom had dragged Puck along with her to do the shopping, partly because Sarah wanted him to come with them and partly because his mom didn't really trust him to be in the house by himself (any demons he might percieve could potentially result in him setting the house on fire, not to mention the extensive collection of knives and other sharp objects in the kitchen), and now he was standing in the pasta and tomato sauce aisle and glancing over his shoulder every few seconds, keeping watch for anything that might appear threatening.

"Noah, would you _stop_ fidgeting?" his mom snapped, dropping three boxes of mac n' cheese into the cart. "People are going to think you're on the lam."

Puck resorted to holding one arm around his chest and chewing the cuticles on the fingers of his opposite hand, staring vacantly at the scuffed linoleum floor.

Sarah bounded up to them then (startling Puck) with a bag of lollipops clutched in her hands. "Mom! Mom! Can we get this? Please?"

Ms. Puckerman sighed. "Come on, Sarah, put that back. How many times do I have to tell you? Candy's only for Halloween and Valentine's Day."

Sarah pouted and dropped the candy on the bottom shelf next to the lasanga, then glanced at her brother. "Noah, what are you looking at?"

"Noah," Ms. Puckerman said, raising her voice when Puck didn't respond. His eyes were following an invisible path across the top of the shelves. She gripped his shoulder tightly, forcing his attention back to reality. "Did you take your medication today?"

Puck shifted from foot to foot. "...Yeah."

"How come you have to take medicine all the time now?" Sarah asked. "It just makes you sleepy and boring."

"We've been over this, Sarah," Ms. Puckerman said, grabbing the cart to continue down the aisle. "Noah's sick and the medicine's making him better."

"It's taking a really long time," Sarah grumbled.

Ms. Puckerman stopped and turned around. "Noah!" she said. "Come on." Puck snapped out of his momentary trance and walked quickly to catch up with them. Sarah wound her fingers into his hand.

* * *

In the afternoon, Puck's second round of medication led to him curling up in bed and sleeping until just after sunset. When he woke, he found Sarah sitting cross-legged by his feet.

"Hi," she said when she noticed he was awake.

He only grunted in response, rolling over and shutting his eyes against the orange evening light falling through the window.

"Mom ordered pizza," Sarah announced, hoping to coax Puck to join in a conversation.

"I'm sleeping," he said into his pillow.

"You're always sleeping."

There were a few moments of silence, until Puck heard the rustling of a page being turned, and he pricked his eyes open to see what Sarah was reading. When he saw that it was his notebook resting on her knees, his reaction was instantaneous.

Sarah yelped as he lurched up and the back of his fist collided with her temple, knocking her off the bed. He was on his feet in seconds, looming over her with his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides. Sarah was crying and clutching her head where he'd hit her. He reached down and roughly yanked her to her feet, his fingers digging into her arms so deeply that bruises began to quickly form under her skin. "_Get out of my room_," he snarled, tossing her towards the door. She screamed and fell again, but still made no move to leave.

Puck snatched his notebook up from where it had fallen on the floor and shoved it under his pillow. Sarah was still there. "God damn it, GET_ OUT!_" He grabbed her by the back of her neck, dragging her into the hallway as she sobbed and tried to pry his fingers loose. Finally, in desperation, she reached up and scratched his forearm, scraping away a good layer of skin and drawing forth a small amount of blood. Puck flinched and let go, but kicked her legs, making her trip and tumble down the stairs, landing solidly on the hardwood floor at the bottom. She didn't move.

Puck turned around and went back into his room, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Will was in the middle of watching an evening _Law & Order_ rerun when his phone rang in the kitchen. He put down his beer, muted the TV, and picked up the receiver on the fourth ring. "Hello?"

"_Mr. Schue?_"

"Puck?"

"_Yeah._"

Will's heart clenched a little, knowing that the only reason Puck would call was if something bad had happened. "Are you okay?"

There was silence on the other end for a few moments, but then Will picked up some background noise that sounded like a paging system at a public building. "Where are you?" he asked.

"_At the hospital_."

"Are you okay? What happened?"

"_I, uh..._" Will could hear Puck's voice shaking a little. "_I didn't know who else to call - Finn wasn't there, and Santana hung up on me, and-_"

"Puck, it's okay," Will said gently. "Tell me what happened. If you want me to, I can come get you."

"_I just- I did something, and now I don't know..._" he trailed off.

"What did you do?"

There was a choking sound on the other end, and then a noise like Puck had smacked a wall in frustration.

"It's okay," Will repeated.

Puck inhaled a sharp, unsteady breath. "_I hurt Sarah_," he said, the words tumbling out so quickly that Will wasn't sure he'd heard right.

"Your sister?"

"_And now my mom won't let me near her, and there's someone from Child Services here, and-_" Puck hit the wall again.

Will sighed. "Puck, can you stay where you are until I can get there?"

"_Yeah._"

"Okay, I'm on my way."


	12. Circles

_Sun Gone Lost_

Will found Puck in the corner of the ER waiting room, sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up to his chest. "How long have you been here?" he asked, sitting in the nearest chair.

Puck only shrugged.

"Where's your sister?"

"I don't know," Puck said, studying the threads in his jeans. "My mom wouldn't let me go with her in the ambulance."

Will frowned. "How did you get here, then?"

"Walked."

Will's eyes widened slightly. He knew how far Puck's house was from the hospital. "You didn't call someone to drive you?"

"Like I told you, Finn wasn't there, and Santana hung up on me."

Will couldn't really say that he was surprised at that last bit. Glancing down, he noticed four long and narrow scratches down Puck's forearm that were now scabbed over, but didn't need to ask where they'd come from. "Well, what do you want to do?"

Puck sighed, still keeping his eyes on his knees. "I don't know." He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall. "Child Services is either gonna take me or take Sarah."

"Puck, that would only happen if there was abuse involved."

Puck's eyes snapped open and he glared at his former teacher, making eye contact for the first time. "I threw her down the stairs," he spat, though Will could easily see that the anger wasn't meant for him.

"But that wasn't abuse," Will said. "You were just... having an episode." He honestly was not sure where a schizophrenic episode resulting in a seven year old girl getting beaten up fell on the abuse chart, but he needed Puck to calm down and try to see that it wasn't entirely his fault.

"So? That still leaves her in the house with a psycho." Puck choked a little on the last word.

"Do you remember why you did it, exactly?"

Puck looked back down at his knees and wordlessly shook his head.

* * *

After a while, Will left Puck in the waiting room and somehow managed to convince Ms. Puckerman to allow her son into Sarah's curtained-off section of the ER, so long as both she and Will were there and as long as Puck stayed at least an arm's length away. When Will guided Puck toward's Sarah's makeshift room, Puck suddenly stopped short. "I can't go in there," he said.

"Puck, it's okay," Will said, a hand on his shoulder.

Puck shook his head, his eyes a little wider than normal. "No, no, if I go in there, it's gonna happen again; I can't-" He turned to head back in the other direction, but Will stopped him.

"Puck, what's happening right now?" he asked as gently as he could. "Are you hearing anything? Seeing stuff?"

Puck wouldn't meet his eye and resorted to chewing the cuticle on his middle finger.

"You know that those things aren't real," Will said. "You can do this."

Puck's hands curled against his temples and he squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head.

Will sighed. "Okay. Come on, I'll take you home."

For the duration of the car ride back to Lima, Puck was silent. He only leaned back in his seat and watched the streets go by outside the window, and Will kept his eyes on the road ahead, wanting to say so much but unable to put anything into words.

* * *

Kurt was shaken awake in the middle of the night, and jumped when he saw Finn's hulking form standing over him in the darkness. "Dude, wake up." Kurt groaned and dropped his face back into his pillow.

"Finn, if this is another one of your idiotic midnight mental tangents that you need my assistance with, go back to bed and I'll help you with it in the morning. Why some camels have two humps and some have one can wait until the morning."

Kurt knew something was wrong when Finn didn't give a comeback of any sort.

"I just got a call from Puck's mom," he said. "He's gone."

Immediately, Kurt was awake and upright. "Gone? Gone where?"

"I dunno," Finn said, and Kurt could hear the frantic undertone in his stepbrother's voice. "His mom thought he might be with me. Dude, we need to go look for him."

Kurt's train of thought was already past that boarding station and he was on his feet, pulling off his pajamas and yanking on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. He grabbed his car keys off his desk and together he and Finn scampered down the stairwell as quietly as possible, jumping into Kurt's Navigator and pulling out of the driveway within seconds.

"Call him," Kurt ordered as he watched the road. "Just to be sure."

"He doesn't have a phone anymore," Finn replied. "It was disconnected, remember?"

"Shit," Kurt said under his breath. "God, where would he _go_?"

Finn knew which places old Puck would go if he needed to get away, but he had no idea how new Puck's brain functioned, and he was pretty sure that with the disease messing up Puck's thought processes, it wouldn't be consistent either way. "Let's try the school first." Finn figured that any place that was familiar to Puck would be a likely location for him to be, but really he just was hoping that Puck was actually close by and in a place that wasn't potentially harmful.

The school turned up nothing - there were no cars in the parking lot, and all the doors were padlocked. It was the same for the gym, the 7-11, Puck's street, his temple, Quinn's house, Santana's house, and all the parks in town. The small glowing clock on the Navigator's dashboard was nearing two-thirty in the morning when Kurt and Finn had exhausted all the possibilities they could think of, and they were beginning to grow desperate.

After calling Puck's mom (again) just to be absolutely _sure_ that Puck wasn't just taking a really really quiet bath or something, they finally began to just drive in circles around the outer Lima city limits, passing through Lima Heights Adjacent for the second time that evening and circling around through the nicer neighborhoods, then the shopping plaza, and eventually back to the Heights. Their hope that they would find Puck randomly walking some sidewalk was quickly diminishing by the minute, and they gradually widened their circle.

As they crossed the train tracks that ran by the Heights, Finn suddenly flailed in the passenger seat and yelled "Stop!", making Kurt yelp in surprise and slam on the breaks. Finn was squinting through the dim light of the streetlamps down the tracks to where they jumped onto a bridge spanning the width of the river that formed the edge of Lima Heights before heading towards Cincinnati. "Isn't that Puck's mom's truck?" Finn asked, pointing to a dark silhouette parked crookedly on the gravel near the mouth of the bridge.

Kurt actually didn't have a chance to answer before Finn jumped out of the car and began to run towards the vehicle, but he quickly followed suit and was running after Finn as fast as he could. Finn skidded on the gravel as he came to a stop next to the truck, which had clearly been abandoned several hours before (the metal of the hood was cold and Kurt couldn't smell the fresh exhaust that lingered after a car's engine had been shut off). His heart sunk as he looked toward the bridge. "Oh, no," he whispered, walking onto the wooden slats beneath the iron tracks.

Gripping the side rail, Kurt leaned out and looked down to the roiling waters below.


	13. On The Rocks

_Sun Gone Lost_

Kurt's eyes searched the dark waters flowing beneath the bridge for any sign of Puck, but there was nothing but rocks nearly invisible in the night. The fall alone wasn't high enough to do any damage to anyone except an infant, but the rocks were probably deadly. Finn was standing next to him, looking down at the river with wide eyes. "He could still be okay, right?" Finn said. "I mean, just cause he parked here, it doesn't mean he jumped... Right?"

Kurt didn't answer, not wanting to lie about what he thought the odds were that Puck was all right.

"We should go back to the house and get some flashlights," Finn thought out loud. "Start searching around here on foot. Do you think we should call the police?"

"I don't know," Kurt sighed, still watching the river.

Finn turned to head back to the car, announcing that he'd be back soon with flashlights and telling Kurt that he should stay put in case Puck returned to the truck, but Kurt suddenly grabbed his arm, wordlessly pointing down to the rocky shallows about a hundred yards downstream. Finn saw the faint outline of a figure floating in the water, and was running off the bridge and down the slope to the shoreline in the blink of an eye. Kurt ran after him, his shoes crunching on the dead leaves and gravel lining the water's edge.

When he caught up with his stepbrother, Finn was already in the river up to his knees and turning Puck over so that his mouth and nose had access to oxygen. There was a gaping wound on the side of his forehead from the rocks that was still sluggishly bleeding, leaving black clouds in the water around his head.

"Oh my god," Kurt breathed, his hands over his mouth.

"Help me with him," Finn grunted, yanking Puck towards the shoreline. Kurt waded in and wrapped his arms around Puck's shoulders, heaving him up and, with Finn's help, dragging him out of the water.

"Jesus, he's freezing," Kurt said as he felt the side of Puck's neck. "I - I can't find a pulse; there's no pulse."

Finn put his ear to Puck's chest, then placed his hands against Puck's ribs and began to push down the way they'd been taught in health class.

"Finn," Kurt choked out. "Stop."

Finn didn't look up.

"He's gone, Finn."

"Come on," Finn growled, continuing to pump Puck's lungs. "Come on."

Finally, Kurt stood up and tried to pull Finn away from Puck's body, but Finn threw him off roughly enough to make Kurt trip and fall, the mud soaking into his sweatpants.

"Come _on!_" Finn gave up on the standard CPR and resorted to pounding the side of his fist against Puck's breastbone. He jumped when water suddenly spurted out of Puck's mouth.

"Oh my god!" Kurt cried, scurrying back to Finn's side as Puck began to convulse. They quickly turned him over so that the water streaming out of his mouth and nose would end up on the ground rather than back in his lungs. Puck shuddered and coughed violently, and then his stomach heaved and he vomited onto the mud. Finn placed a hand on his shoulder and asked if he was all right, but as soon as he touched him, Puck flinched and scrambled several feet away, staring at them with wide eyes encrusted with silt and water still dripping out of his nostrils. "Get away from me," he slurred, his voice squeaking hoarsely over the drops of water still lodged in his windpipe.

Finn frowned, startled by Puck's behavior. "Puck, it's just us," he said, glancing at Kurt with uncertainty.

Kurt, however, immediately understood that Puck's mind was not currently lining up with reality, and he raised his hands slightly in a calming gesture. "We're not going to hurt you," he said as gently as he could. His hands and voice were still shaking with adrenaline, though, and it came out sounding much less promising than he'd intended.

Puck's eyes narrowed at him. A drop of blood from the wound on his temple left a dark trail down the side of his face. "Take the knife out of your pocket."

"There's no knife, I swear." Kurt felt a rock pushing against the walls of his throat, and suddenly wished that Puck was back to body-checking him into the lockers every morning.

Puck shook his head and back up a few steps. "You're lying," he spat.

"No, Puck-"

Puck spun on his heel and tried to run in the opposite direction, but he staggered and fell after only a few strides. Kurt and Finn rushed over to find that Puck's eyes had rolled back in their sockets. "Crap," Finn said, recognizing the signs of a severe concussion from his experience on the football field. "We gotta call 911."

"It'll take them ages to find us," Kurt said. "We'll take him to the hospital ourselves."

Finn yanked Puck up off the ground, looping his arms around Puck's shoulders as Kurt grabbed his legs and, their backs straining, they carried him back up the gravel slope to the car. Puck was shoved into the back seat and Kurt jumped up next to him, tossing Finn the keys. "You drive," he said. "I'll keep him awake."

* * *

By the time Finn pulled the car to a stop in front of the entrance to Lima Memorial's emergency room, the sky overhead had turned a pearly grey. Kurt had managed to keep Puck somewhere between sleep and consciousness until they were able to hand him over to the doctors on duty in the ER. They pulled him from the back seat of the Navigator onto a stretcher and whisked him inside and through a pair of swinging double doors without giving Kurt and Finn so much as a "He'll be fine."

"Let's wait and see what they have to say," Finn said, already heading for the waiting room. Kurt didn't bother to remind Finn that they had school in two hours and they were both still covered in mud, dead leaves, and other debris from the river, and sat quietly beside him. In only a few minutes, Kurt was almost asleep against the wall. Finn, however, remained tense and fidgety, shifting his long legs every couple of seconds. The only other people in the waiting room were an exhausted-looking woman and her very young daughter, the latter of whom did nothing but blatantly stare at Finn, which only made him more uncomfortable. Eventually, his stomach rumbled loudly and he stood up to get something from the vending machine, only to remember that he didn't have any money with him, and he sat down again, slightly more miserable than before.

Kurt jerked awake when Finn's cell phone suddenly began blasting some lesser-known Journey song from his pocket, and he pulled it out to hear his mother's voice hysterically asking why neither boy was in the house at five-thirty in the morning.

"Mom, it's fine-"

"_Finn, it is _not_ fine; you didn't even leave a note! Where are you?_"

"It's okay," Finn insisted. "We're in the emergency room-"

"_What?_" Carole shrieked. "_Why are you in the ER? What happened? Is Kurt okay? Are _you_ okay?_"

"Mom!" Finn cut in. "Just-"

Kurt finally decided that Finn was doing a poor job of communicating and intervened, snatching the phone away from Finn's ear. "Hey, Carole," he said, flashing Finn a stern look. "Don't worry, Finn and I are both fine."

Finn stopped listening to Kurt's summary of the night's events, knowing that he could explain it much better than Finn could and without giving either of their parents a heart attack, and resorted to reading one of the wall posters preaching the importance of hand washing until Kurt hung up and gave the phone back to him.

"She's calling Puck's mom to let her know what's going on, and she wants us home now," Kurt summarized.

Finn frowned. "We can't stay and make sure he's okay?"

Kurt gave his stepbrother a sympathetic look. "Finn, he's fine," he said gently. "There's nothing more we can or need to do tonight. And even if he isn't fine, his mom will be here soon."

"It's not like she's done much for him lately," Finn grumbled, but he stood and followed Kurt out to the car.


	14. Backwards

_Sun Gone Lost_

Shelby nervously tugged on her shirtsleeves as she waited for the elevator doors to open, her black cardigan suddenly feeling like it was far too small. There was a short male nurse co-occupying the elevator, who kept glancing at her as she shifted from foot to foot.

"Getting hotter out, huh?" he eventually said.

She glanced up in mild surprise, as if she hadn't noticed he was there. "Uh, yeah," was her automatic response as she turned her gaze back to the slowly-climbing glowing red floor number.

"You here visiting family?" the nurse probed.

"Just a friend."

Finally, the doors slid open and Shelby hurried out, already having forgotten about the male nurse, who might have been cute or even handsome had she bothered to notice.

Her first thought when she entered Noah's ward was to wonder if the woman at the nurse's station had given her the wrong room number. She understood that this kind of disease could change a person, but she hadn't seen him since Beth had been born, and she'd still expected to see the tall, muscular Noah that had swaggered down the hall of the maternity ward. Now, Noah was lying on his side in the bed, facing away from her, looking much thinner than she remembered.

"Noah?" she said hesitantly, still not entirely sure that it was him.

"What?" He didn't move.

She took a breath to steel her nerves and came around the end of the bed so that he could see her, and eased tentatively into the chair situated for visitors. "It's good to see you," she said.

He gave her a look like he knew she was lying. "What are you doing here?" His voice was flat, his face gaunt, and there were deep shadows under his eyes made all the more noticeable by the unusually pallid tone to his skin. The hospital gown didn't suit him and made him look even sicker. He was watching her with an unnerving steadiness.

"I wanted to see how you were doing."

His only response was to fiddle with one of the several braided bracelets around his right wrist. His left wrist sported a hospital identification band, and above it, four long and narrow scabs ran down his forearm.

"So...how are you doing?" Shelby prodded gently.

He gave a one-shoulder shrug. "I've got drugs in me up to my eyeballs and I'm on suicide watch."

She nodded. "Yeah, uh... Rachel told me what happened," she said softly, glancing at the stitched-up gash down the side of his forehead.

"I don't want to talk about it," he snapped.

"Okay."

He stuck his thumbnail between his teeth and yanked off a small sliver of it, making Shelby wince slightly. "Where's Beth?"

"She's at day care."

He frowned in thought for a moment. "How old is she now?"

"Thirteen months."

"I bet she looks like Quinn."

Shelby smiled softly. "You'd be surprised how much she looks like you." Noah didn't speak, his face contorting into a deeper frown. Shelby's gaze fell back onto the four scratches down his arm. "How did you get those?"

He didn't need to see what she was looking at to understand what she was referring to. "They're from my sister. I threw her down the stairs."

Shelby couldn't suppress a small gasp, and Noah's eyes finally snapped up to meet hers. The action startled her, almost as much as the fact that he was staring at her without saying anything. After a few moments, she finally averted her eyes to the floor.

"I'm going back into the hospital," he said a minute later, his voice still unnervingly flat. "Child Services is threatening to take Sarah, so I'm going back."

"Was that your decision or theirs?"

"Doesn't matter." He pulled the thin blanket up over his shoulders, closing his eyes.

"You've lost a lot of weight." It was a terrible conversation point, but Shelby couldn't remember the last time she felt quite this nervous, and she was beginning to grasp at straws.

Without opening his eyes, he responded, "Yeah, well, it's kinda hard to eat when there's bugs in the food."

Shelby swallowed audibly and didn't speak, completely at a loss now for what to say or even if she should be saying anything. How on earth would she cope with this if Beth turned out to be the same? A rock worked its way up her esophagus.

Several minutes later, Noah's eyes were still closed, and she thought he'd fallen asleep when he quietly said, "You can't let Beth go through this. Kill her; she's gotta die."

Shelby flinched and lurched to her feet, backing away from him. She hurried out the door and back towards the elevators, her heart pounding in her ears.

* * *

Joann Puckerman had felt exhausted for the last six years straight, ever since Bill had walked out the door with a six-pack in one hand and a suitcase in the other. She liked to think that she'd done the best she could, being a single mom recovering from an abusive relationship, and yes, she may have a little too much beer every now and then, but what did they expect? She had two kids - one of whom seemed bent on getting into as much trouble as possible - and she had been working two or three jobs since before Sarah had learned to walk. She hadn't had a vacation since college, so she was entitled to that extra beer, dammit. She _earned_ it. When Noah's doctor had somberly delivered the diagnosis last September, her first thought was "_Oh, for fuck's sake. Sure, God. Just add it to the pile._"

Now, for the second time, she was in Noah's room, shoving clothes into a backpack to bring with him to the institution. His bedroom had always been messy, but since he'd been sick it was downright chaotic, and Joann had never had the time to clean it along with the rest of the house. It didn't matter how much the doctors explained, she still didn't fully understand what was happening inside her son's head (not that she ever had, but now it was even harder to pick apart), but she was pretty sure that even mental illness was not supposed to affect someone's ability to clean their own bedroom, and the fact that he had ignored her repeated requests for him to at the very least pick up all the crap that was strewn across the floor just pissed her off. She didn't understand why Noah would periodically flinch at nothing, or why he would periodically blank out and stare into empty space, or why he'd thrown Sarah down the stairs, or why the _fuck _he'd jumped off a bridge.

Yes, _logically_, she knew it was all because of the disease in his head. But she didn't know _why_.

Feeling an all-too-familiar surge of anger, Joann slammed the bag she was packing onto his cluttered desk, sinking onto the edge of his bed and resting her head in her hands. Every cell in her body was prickling with exhaustion, and she was just so _sick _of having to deal with this, with getting overdue bills in the mail, with holding up three jobs in order to barely meet the hospital payments every month, with _everything_. She sighed, her teeth grinding slightly as she tried to push down the urge to drive her fist into the wall.

"Mom?"

She looked over her shoulder to see Sarah standing in the doorway, her arms hugging her skinny chest. There was a hideously large patch of blackened skin blooming over her right temple, and a pattern of smaller bruises down the side of her neck left from Noah's fingers. Joann knew there were a few more on her shoulders and back.

"Hey, sweetie. What's up?"

"Is Noah coming back?" Sarah's voice trembled a little, as did her shoulders.

Joann tried to smile comfortingly. "No. You don't need to worry about that. It won't happen again."

Sarah swallowed. "But...why isn't he coming back?"

"Honey, we can't have him live here if there's any chance he'd hurt someone."

The girl's lower lip trembled. "Would he come back if it was my fault?"

Joann's eyebrows snapped together, and she stood up. "What do you mean?"

"He wouldn't have hit me if I didn't do anything."

"Sarah, it wasn't your fault," Joann said firmly, crossing the room to wrap her daughter in a tight hug (well, as tight as possible without aggravating Sarah's bruises). "It was Noah's fault, and _only_ Noah's fault. Okay?"

Sarah sniffled, but nodded, and Joann gave her a quick kiss on the top of her head. "You want Frosted Flakes for dinner?"

"...Yeah."

Once Sarah had gone back downstairs, Joann sighed and returned to packing Noah's bag. She began to dig through his closet in search of his one and only sweatshirt and found it on the floor beneath his no-longer-used letterman jacket. As she carelessly snatched it to throw it into the bag, there was a solid _thunk_ as an object that had been wrapped in the sweatshirt fell out. Joann frowned and picked up a well-used and slightly worn notebook with no name or label of any sort on the cover. Thinking it might be something left over from when Noah was in school, she leafed through a couple pages, her eyes widening as she skimmed over sheets filled to the margins with disorganized scribblings running left, right, backwards, upside down, and in every other direction possible, in some cases even running straight off the page mid-word.

As her heart picked up speed slightly, Joann sat back on the edge of the bed, staring at the chaos in her hands. Noah's handwriting had gotten even messier and more jagged - some spots had holes in the paper where the pen had punched through - and Joann noticed that on some pages the penmanship turned from jagged to softer and more jumbled and then back again, and her heart climbed back into her throat when she realized that she was looking at physical evidence of the difference between when Noah was taking his medication and when he wasn't.

Words and snippets began to jump out at her as she turned the pages, as if announcing the most prominent parts of her son's broken mind.

_I got to get out of here_

_my tongue is gone it left_

_i swearto god if she sticks me again ill KILL HER_

_why wont tyler leave me the fuck alone_

_ASSHOLES DAMN FUCKERS_

_shut up Shut up shut up shut up sut up shut up_

_im going to take my brain and throw it outthe window and bash my head through the glass_

_Why can i never remember wha_

_GET OFF ME_

The words suddenly blurred, and Joann reached up to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand. The solid pages of nonsensical text were cut through with the occasional doodle - thick black lines like veins that wove back and forth between the words without forming any sort of picture. Joann took a deep breath and shut the book, tucking it under her arm as she carried the packed bag downstairs. She set the bag by the front door, then took the notebook into the kitchen, where she dropped it into the trash can before reaching into the fridge for a beer.


End file.
